Battle of the Drabbles: A DG Collection
by The DG Forum
Summary: Five rounds of drabbles where participants slug it out (anonymously) with their pens and imaginations to be crowned the most awesome author overall. All stories will feature Draco/Ginny. Genres and prompts will vary. Fun is guaranteed. Your vote does count, so please remember to visit our profile page to vote for and support your favourite drabbles!
1. Round 1 (I)

**Warning! This story contains various genres and some of the scenes will not be so happy and nice.**

**A/N:** This 'story' contains the five rounds of the Battle of the Drabbles we are hosting at _The DG Forum_. Detailed information can be found at the forum (link is on our profile).

**Quick facts:**

**-** Each week a prompt is given. The writers have one week to write and submit. All submissions are anonymous until the end of the challenge (Monday 5th November).

**-** There will be a voting poll made for each round on The DG Forum profile page, with two votes allotted per person. Anyone who has read the submissions is encouraged to vote for their favourites. Weekly results will be announced.

**-** There are five rounds and at the end the Overall Most Awesome Author (OMAA) and Overall Most Awesome Drabble (OMAD) will be announced.

**-** Submissions will be divided between two chapters for each round (with six drabbles listed for each). Note that this may vary depending on the word count.

So, without further ado . . .

* * *

**-xXx-**

**Round One (I)**

**Prompt:** Write a DG piece inspired by the selected picture, which was of a maze.

**Word count:** 750 words.

**-xXx-**

**Submission One**

**Lost**

Ginny swore under her breath. Yet again she had reached a dead-end turning surrounded by ridiculously high green hedgerows. This place seemed to be never ending. Stupid Hermione for talking her into doing a Muggle maze with her. Stupid Ronald for making it a competition and splitting them up. And stupid her for leaving her wand at home thinking she wouldn't need it.

Cursing again, she turned around and started to retrace her steps. This place was a nightmare – the ground was covered in gnarled roots and she swore someone had deliberately blocked the route to the centre just to annoy her. It was ridiculous. Grimacing, she reached a crossroads and turned left, hoping that for once this would actually lead somewhere different. Somewhere she could sit down, have a firewhiskey and relax. Rather than trooping through this ridiculous shrubbery.

Suddenly, she collided with something in front of her.

"Watch where you're going!" It snapped.

Ginny tensed. She recognised that voice... and it was the last person she expected or wanted to be here.

"Malfoy?" She questioned, glancing up.

There was no mistaking that white blonde hair and sneering face.

"Weaselette. Just as clumsy and disrespectful as always I see." His tone was, if possible, even more condescending than it had been at school.

"Oh bugger off." Ginny growled, brushing herself off and making to step past. However, her route was blocked by Malfoy manoeuvring himself in her path.

"That's not a nice way to speak to your superior, Weaselette." Malfoy drawled, folding his arms leisurely. It was at that moment Ginny's eyes were drawn to his chest – he was, amazingly, wearing a Muggle shirt and jeans, and the top few buttons of the shirt were open exposing a rather well defined chest...

"Pahh." Ginny pulled herself out of the trance. "Superior my arse. You may have been found innocent but you're still Death Eater scum. What the hell are you doing in the Muggle world anyway?"

In a flash, Draco had grabbed her arms and shoved her backwards into the hedge, pinning her there.

"Don't you DARE accuse me of being a Death Eater again." He snarled. "I joined the Dark Lord to protect my family, not because I wanted to. I might not think much of Granger but that doesn't mean I hate all Muggle borns for their blood. I hate Granger because she's a smart arse and I hate Weasleys because underneath their 'we're so friendly' attitude they treat all other purebloods like they're scum. Now stop making accusations because you haven't got a clue about my life."

Ginny was staring open mouthed. Malfoy was still a git, but perhaps he was slightly less of a git than she thought. Besides, he was pressing into her and his muscular chest against hers was making her feel things she hadn't felt in a long time.

"We wouldn't treat you like scum if you didn't treat us the same way." Ginny managed to get out, hoping she wasn't stuttering. Her stomach had started to fill with butterflies. Godric, she hoped she wasn't beginning to like Malfoy.

Malfoy scoffed. "I don't believe that for one second and you don't either. Malfoy's and Weasley's have never gotten on and never will. We hate each other."

"I don't hate you. I think you're a smarmy git with a God complex, but I don't hate you." The words came out before Ginny could stop them.

Malfoy almost looked shocked for a moment, then smirked.

"Fallen for my charm, have you? I knew you couldn't resist me." He was still holding her arms, and as he said this he moved in even closer.

"Don't be ridiculous." Ginny squeaked, trying desperately to appear unaffected.

"Ridiculous? A Malfoy is never ridiculous, Weaselette." He was practically purring; his face now inches away from her ear, whispering in it.

"I..."

Ginny was interrupted by a sudden shout.

"Ginny? Where are you? We're going home now!" It was Hermione.

Malfoy tensed, then pulled away and grinned at Ginny predatorily.

"I'll see you around, Weaselette." Smirking, he planted a kiss on her cheek and strode away.

Ginny blushed and cupped her cheek. When Hermione came round the corner a minute later she couldn't understand how Ginny was so quiet – or why, when they met up with Harry, she treated him with no more than cold indifference...

**-xXx-**

**Submission Two**

**Devotion**

Ginny smiled up at Draco, brushing a thumb lightly across the back of his hand as she held it firmly in her own. His skin was smooth even as the curve of each knuckle was beautifully scarred and weathered by time, and she admired the way his hand fit so perfectly in her own.

He didn't return her smile, nor did he respond as she pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, her stiff joints creaking as she stretched to meet him. He continued glowering stoically across his domain, an endless sea of green she had lost herself in countless times over the years as she searched for her love.

She pressed her body against his, taking comfort from his immovable form. It had taken her longer than usual to find him this time, and her smile almost faltered at the thought that he had gone to the trouble of hiding himself from her so thoroughly. But Ginny knew her Draco would not be so cruel to her - _never_ to her. Perhaps it was her body, which had not withstood the passage of time nearly so well as his, that had caused it.

The sun was rising, and the golden rays licked at her body, warming her as Draco could not. She lifted her hand, brushing her fingers against his hair, trailing them across the smooth line of his jaw. "There's nothing to fear when we're together, my dragon."

The remark was futile, and she knew it well. She had spoken to him countless times over the years, but nothing she said or did would smooth the crease of his brow, or lift the hard frown of his mouth.

It had been so long since he had smiled last. She would have forgotten what it looked like had she not protected her treasured memories so fiercely, nor dreamt of him so often. Even now, she could see him smiling handsomely when she closed her eyes, though he never looked at her. His smiles were always at others, but she knew - she _knew_ - the secret smiles were for her. Their love was forbidden, and it was the greatness of his love for her that made him protect her so staunchly.

The ground rumbled beneath her feet, as though woken from a deep slumber, and she knew she had stayed too long. Leaves rustled behind her as branches delicately caressed each other, and the walls of Draco's chamber closed, locking her inside.

Perhaps it was finally time to emerge from the shadows, to let the sun look down on her love and envy its brilliance. Her smile brightened at the thought that she might finally be free of the secrets that had plagued her for so long.

Draco watched her as she reached into the pocket of her robes and removed the tiny crystal vial she had stolen. Her hand steady, she removed the ornately sculpted stopper and downed the contents, giggling when a small hiccup escaped her lips. She placed the empty vessel in the curve of his hand, then pressed both of her own against his chest to steady her shaking body. She smiled through the pain when she looked up at Draco, determined to stay strong for him, and she thought his frown might have lessened slightly, his furrowed brow perhaps in anticipation of what might be.

She gave him one last adoration filled kiss, her mouth curving in a blissful smile despite the pain raging through her. Her body grew cold, her skin blackened and veined like marble and she joined her soul mate in eternity.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Three**

**Meet me at the Center**

Draco unfolded the note and stared down at the thick black letters on the parchment.

_Meet me at the center._

Ginny's writing. Ginny's perfume, subtle as the warm breeze that blew all round him as he stood outside the rounded hedge. So like her, he thought. No begging. No explanation. No excuses. But no invitation, either; not really. What would happen if he_ did _find her at the center of the hedge maze? Would she accept him then? He folded the note back up and saw that something was written in tiny letters on the other side.

_No magic._

Creative swearing would most likely not be the way to appease the gods, so he stifled the words that rose to his mind and entered the maze through a gap between two hedges. After all, how hard could it be?

An hour later, he stopped and glared at the endless winding hedge, wiping the sweat from his brow. Dead ends, sharp branches scratching his skin, and a furtive, futile attempt to use his wand—it had all led to this! He felt something crumple in his hand and realized that it was the note.

_Close your eyes._

"Mad," he said aloud. "Impossible. I've probably been wandering about for days. I haven't been able to find anything with my eyes _open_—"

More writing appeared.

_That's the point._

He felt the tips of his fingernails digging painfully into his own palms. _I'll die out here. I didn't bring food, I didn't bring water. And now she's asking me to do this! I ought to turn around and leave. No girl is worth it. _But it would be just as impossible to find his way out.

Trapped between two dooms, he stared straight ahead, fingering her note over and over again. A few minutes passed. He realized that he was reading the new words with his fingers, tracing the minute embossment of the ink as clearly as a blind man reading Braille.

_Come to me._

Draco closed his eyes. Then he began to walk surely, solidly, like a man reaching a destination he has known by heart all his life.

Ginny sat at the very center of the maze, her red-gold hair glimmering over her shoulders. She lifted her head when she saw him, and the sun set her beauty ablaze. He approached her hesitantly. She held out her hand. He took it in his, and then he had to shut his eyes more tightly, because he had begun to cry. _A Malfoy never cries,_ he thought. _But then, Malfoys are never supposed to do a thousand things that I've already done for her sake._

He felt her pick up his hand and raise it to her cheek, and he felt the wetness on his fingertips that meant she was crying, too.

"I knew you'd come through, Draco," she said at last.

"What happened to Potter?" he asked.

She motioned for him to sit next to her. "Oh, he's wandering about somewhere in the maze."

"I think we should leave him to starve," muttered Draco.

Ginny shook her head. "No. I feel sorry for him, really. He'll never understand how to find the center."

"So what's the secret?" asked Draco.

"Well, how did _you_ find me?"

"I followed the instructions on your note, even though I didn't want to in the least," he admitted.

"You didn't trust me?" Her golden eyes looked sad.

He shook his head vigorously. "I swear that wasn't it, Ginny."

She leaned closer, and he felt the greater warmth of her body against the heat of the sun. "Perhaps you didn't trust yourself."

He looked away slightly. "Perhaps."

"You still don't know what it is, do you?" she asked.

"Mmph." There had to be a limit to non-Malfoyish activities at some point, thought Draco. Admitting that he was wrong seemed like a very good place to stop.

But she scooted closer, and he no longer cared very much. "You wanted to find me. But even more than that, I think you wanted to find yourself."

He saw himself mirrored in her huge golden eyes. _No longer a boy,_ he thought. _Not yet a man. Never the man my father wanted me to be._ But a strange thought struck him. Perhaps he really_ could _find the man he wished to be, even as he had found the center of this mysterious maze.

And when she leaned in and kissed him, he was sure of it.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Four**

**Scare**

Ginny shivered as a gust of cool autumn wind brushed against her bare arms. More than anything, she wished she had remembered to take a jumper with her before she'd left her flat; it was October, after all, and the evenings had been quite chilly for the past several weeks. But as she continued to move forward through the tall grass, the focus she initially had on her gooseflesh became less, and her increased awareness of the darkness that seemed to envelope her moved to the forefront.

Instinctively, her arms wrapped around her midsection. It was a weak attempt at protecting herself from any ghosts or ghouls that could possibly turn up to scare her, but it was all she had for defense. Her wand had been taken away as soon as she had entered the premises, and she was beginning to worry more and more about what she was going to do when she came across her foes.

As she continued to creep through the fields, her breaths became shallower and her heart began pounding heavily in her chest. The violently rapid internal rhythm was almost audible. With each step she took, the tension she felt throughout her whole body continued to expand until her stomach was bunched up in knots. All she wanted was to go home and curl up in a ball, to feel safe and secure in her own bed rather than feel her entire body grow stiffer and stiffer with trepidation.

A footstep broke through the silence. The indisputable sound of a shriveled autumn leaf being cracked under someone's shoe resonated through the loud silence. Ginny froze in place and attempted to remain invisible. Maybe if she didn't move, she'd be safe. Maybe they would just go away and leave her alone and then she could finish her way through in silence.

It wasn't until he started laughing that she was able to breathe a sigh of relief. In one swift motion, she turned to her boyfriend, smacking him in the shoulder with the back of her hand. She did not feel even an ounce of guilt at the pain she'd inflicted on him. The git knew that this bloody haunted Halloween maze scared the life out of her.

"Damn it, Draco!" she cried, placing a hand to her chest in exasperation. "I thought it was one of them!"

"Ow, Gin," he answered, still laughing at his frightened girlfriend. His hand rubbed over his point of injury. "You do realize that they'll only go after you when you act like you're afraid, don't you?"

"Who's acting?"

He continued to laugh as he wrapped his arms around her middle, pulling him into her protectively. "You should know by now that I'd never let anything hurt you, love."

"Yeah, whatever." She huffed indignantly. "How much further do we have to go before we can get out of this bloody thing?"

The blond sighed. Obviously she was just not going to appreciate Halloween festivities in the same way that he did.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Five**

**Martyr for the Stars**

She cannot move. There is blood dripping down her wrists, staining the metal digging into her flesh a deep crimson. The cloth wrapped around her eyes is itchy and damp, and as she licks her cracked lips she can taste the salt of her tears on her tongue—the only liquid she has had in what feels like days.

Hands grip her shoulders—bruising, unforgiving hands that make her feel like her collarbone is going to snap. Instinct makes her struggle, but her legs and arms are bound too tightly to the chair. She is helpless.

"Where is he?" a voice growls. "Where is the Lux Stellarum?"

She spits in the direction of the voice, defiant to the bitter end. Something hard collides with her cheek a second later, making her head snap back from the impact and her ears ring with such intensity that she is momentarily deafened. A metallic tang fills her mouth and she vaguely realises that she must have bitten her tongue. The pain does not even register; it's becoming so difficult to focus now, and the darkness is just so thick. She knows that she will not last much longer.

More hands touch her face, forcing her head up. The man's breath is hot on her cheek as he leans over her. "Your silence cannot save him," he murmurs in a twistingly soothing voice. "I know you've got the information we need tucked away in that little mind of yours, and I will have it whether you want to cooperate or not."

Something hard digs into her temple—a wand. She squeezes her eyes shut behind the blindfold, heart pounding in sickening flutters. Any minute now they're going to use Legilimency on her. They'll delve into her mind like termites, searching and searching, but they won't find him. He is the star shining at the centre of her world, and she will never give him up. She will never let them hurt him.

After all, he taught her well.

"_Your mind will always be your ultimate weapon, Ginevra. Remember that."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_All of our knowledge and memories are locked inside our heads, but there are layers and, within those layers, you can use Occlumency to create false paths and walls to stop people from extracting your secrets. You can make them wander for hours through the web of your thoughts and they'll still never reach the truth."_

"_So it's like a maze."_

_He nods. "And you have to make sure they get lost, because once they reach the centre, it's game over for all of us."_

"_But what if I can't do it? Draco, I—"_

"_Shh." He places a finger on her lips, silencing her doubts. "I know you're strong. You can do this."_

_She stares into his eyes, so beautiful in their unique shade of grey. Whispers of unspoken words fill the space between them, and it's as if something just falls into place. Her breath catches as he brushes his finger caressingly against her bottom lip, and then he is kissing her—kissing her so desperately that she knows he is just as afraid as she is of what the future might bring. The shadow has cast its hand over them all, and they both know they're running out of time. That _he_ is running out of time._

_But she will not fail him. She will never fail him._

Ginny tightens her grip on the chair, conscious of the fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. The incantation has already been spoken, allowing the wizards to penetrate her skull and search her memories. She cannot move and the blood is still dripping down her wrists, but then that doesn't matter. Her mind is her weapon, and she will draw them all into her web. She will let them wander through her thoughts, whispering lies and false images for them to follow until they can no longer perceive the truth. Until they are so lost in her maze of illusions that they will be forced to flee or risk losing themselves completely.

Until there is no breath left in her lungs and all they are left with is an empty shell.

This is what she has been trained to do, and she will protect her secrets to the end. She will protect _him_. Because he is the star shining at the centre of her world—of all their world—and she cannot let him die.

She will not let him die.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Six**

**Of Fear and Truth**

"This is student abuse! I want my wand."

"If you're so opposed to participating, Mr. Malfoy, you may join the alternative inside activity hosted by Professor Burbage ."

He scowled. "You'll be hearing from my father."

McGonagall remained unimpressed.

"Scared, Malfoy?"

He spun towards the taunting voice, unsurprised to find brown eyes staring him down. _Weasley._ Standing in frigid autumn air without a hat or scarf. Nothing to hide that glorious red hair—no, garish, he meant _garish_.

Her nose, cheeks, and tips of the ears were flushed with color, almost obscenely so. An urge overcame him to throw her one of his two scarves. _I want that eyesore of a face covered up_, he reasoned, removing his green cashmere knit and chucking it at her.

"Take it. I'm feeling charitable tonight, Weasley, since obviously your family can't spare the money to dress you properly." Inexplicably, he felt queasy after speaking.

She caught the garment and, surprisingly, wound it around her neck, smirking before stepping closer.

His heart thundered in his chest, which was ridiculous. He certainly wasn't afraid of her, but before he could prepare a witty retort, she froze him by leaning up to peck him on the cheek.

"You're cute when you pretend you don't care," she whispered in his ear.

All mental capacity eluded him as his brain replayed the feeling of cool, soft lips pressed against his skin. By the time he came to, she was disappearing into the crowd. With a swear, he disregarded decorum and ran_. No one steals a kiss from a Malfoy and gets away with it. How dare she?_

Eventually, he caught sight of red set against the green of his scarf as she disappeared into the maze's entrance. Ignoring cries of "Wait your turn!", he entered shortly behind her.

Inside, noise and light were subdued. Cornstalks loomed overhead, casting quivering shadows across the path that soon split into two. He didn't even like corn. Who the hell made mazes out of corn? Ridiculous Muggles, that was who.

Hearing a rustle, he pivoted around. A chill glazed his blood when he spotted a masked figured far down the path, carrying something that resembled a rounded blade attached to a bulky base, dripping with a dark liquid. The figure took a step forward, and Malfoy stepped back. Another step and it was running at him.

With an undignified squeak, Malfoy turned and bolted. A roaring, rending sound pierced the air, growing ever closer.

He took a turn and collided into another body. They stumbled, grabbing each other for balance.

_Weasley,_ he realized when they'd come to a standstill and quickly grabbed her arm, pulling her forward. "Run! We'll be killed!"

To his astonishment, she doubled over laughing.

"I'm not joking," he hissed. He could run, save himself, but damn, he couldn't leave her behind. The thought of it made him nearly sick.

The masked figure rounded the corner, moonlight glinting off the spinning blade—the source of the god-awful noise.

This was it. If he was to die then—Malfoy turned Weasley's shoulders to face him. Without ceremony, he covered her lips with his, swallowing her laugh. At least his last seconds would be sweet, literally, for she tasted of strawberry and honey, intoxicating enough to overwhelm his thoughts of impending death and pain.

"You brats, stop that. This isn't a zoo," growled a familiar voice.

Malfoy looked up, bewildered to see Filch before them, a mask and the now silent weapon in his hands. Ginny shook her head as if coming out of a trance and giggled. "You tuned out as soon as McGonagall mentioned the word Muggle, didn't you?"

He stared at her blankly as Filch left after warning them not to mess around.

"It's a _haunted_ corn maze, Malfoy. In Muggle fashion, there's people like Filch dressed up after horror Muggle characters to scare visitors. His chainsaw's just an illusion though."

Malfoy almost wished he was dead instead. He avoided her gaze, but abruptly felt her soft body press into his side, her arm wrapping around his waist.

"Don't worry,"—she grinned—"Your act just now was rather endearing."

Her warmth was distracting, impairing his ability to think of an adequate retort.

"Glad you ran into me. It's more fun with another person, and stupid Blaise just kidnapped my partner."

Later, he would grudgingly admit that she was right. Despite the stupid Muggle things popping out at them, having her clinging to him all night _was_ rather nice.

* * *

Note: The rest of the submissions for Round One can be found in the following chapter.


	2. Round 1 (II)

**Round One (II)**

**Prompt:** Write a DG piece inspired by the selected picture, which was of a maze.

**Word count:** 750 words.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Seven**

**Game**

Ginny closed her eyes and turned her head away from the light. She had been held in the dungeon for almost three weeks now, and she had gotten used to the dark.

The door scraped open, and Ginny dimly felt that she ought to be curious – her meal was usually pushed in through a grate, and in her time there the door had only been opened a handful of times, if even that. But all she felt was an overwhelming exhaustion, and the distant understanding that the door opening may mean she was about to die.

She turned her head a little closer to the cold stone wall.

There was a long silence, then the sound of shoes on the floor, coming closer. She didn't open her eyes until she felt nails scraping along her scalp, fingers twining through her long, greasy hair and jerking her up.

Her eyes flicked open quickly, and she, trying to breathe and scream at the same time, began to choke violently, coughing, her breath coming out in a soprano hiss.

Bellatrix laughed through the black cloth she wore over her mouth and began to drag Ginny along the ground, not giving her the chance to stand up, so that she, for all she writhed and struggled, only succeeded in giving herself a myriad of tiny cuts that dripped bright blood onto the dirty ground.

Outside it was too bright, and the air too cold, too fresh, too free of the olid stench of her sweat and piss. She began to choke again. It had been so long since she'd smelled clean air that it jarred her, and the freshness of it brought tears to her eyes and a heavy, throbbing pain in her forehead.

"Get up!" Bellatrix dug her nails into Ginny's arm and pulled her to her feet. "Come with me, pet," she purred, pressing her nails deeper into her upper arm, drawing pinpoints of blood. "We're going to play a little game."

With her free hand she tore the strip of black silk from her face and let it flutter to earth.

•••

The chill, early November air turned Ginny's chest to ice as she breathed. She was aware that the grounds of Malfoy Manor were beautiful, draped in thin mist, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care.

"Play my game, pet," Bellatrix whispered, and pushed her forward. Before her, spread across the garden, was a vast, yellowing maze of hedgerows. "Your lunch is waiting for you in the middle, duckie. If you get there, you can eat. And if not …" she laughed quietly. "And if not, you _die._"

Ginny took a step on weak legs.

"You have half an hour, duckie. Don't keep me waiting."

She breathed the cold air shakily and wondered if her weak limbs would be able to support her.

And if there even was a centre to the maze.

•••

The third time Ginny fell, she wasn't able to get up. Her arms were too weak to push herself to her feet. She tried a thousand times before finally giving up, slumping limply to the ground, too weak, too devoid of emotion to even care. Dying, she thought, as she pressed her head to the cold dirt, would be a blessing.

•••

When Draco found her she was blue with cold, asleep and shivering halfway through the labyrinth.

He stared at her for long minutes, wondering how she had gotten out, before nudging her gently with the toe of his black boot.

She didn't move.

He crouched and shook her, his warm hands making whiter imprints on her already pale skin.

When her eyes opened, and she saw his face above her, her heart burst alive with fear, sending black and glowing spots to the fore of her vision.

"What are you doing here?"

She wanted to breathe deeply, but the air was too cold. "_Game_," she whispered hoarsely.

Draco seemed to understand. Perhaps his aunt had played this game with others before her.

He lifted her easily and led her to the centre, where a piece of mouldy bread lay in the dust.

"She wanted you to eat that?"

Ginny inclined her head and didn't bother to lift it back up.

He watched her coolly and said, "Eat it, then. Or did you want to starve?"

She exhaled quietly, her breath fogging the air, and she sank to her knees.

Unable to walk without his support, she crawled towards it on bleeding hands and knees.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Eight**

**The Quest**

"Don't go that way," Harry said as he grabbed her arm and tugged her backward.

"Stop it," Ginny cried, trying to pull her arm out of his vice-like grip. "I just came from there."

In the narrow lane created by the hedges rising high above their heads, they struggled—she trying to move forward, he trying to take her back. She kept falling into the hedges, though sometimes it seemed like he was pushing her into them, and when she finally broke away, her arms were scratched and bleeding.

She moved forward, following the lane until she reached a fork. The left lane went straight for a short distance and then ended in a dead end. The right lane was shadowy and long. Ginny couldn't see where it ended or what might await her. Behind her, Harry prowled as he stared at her, waiting for her to go back to him. But she couldn't; she had to go forward. She chose the right fork.

As soon as she entered the lane, voices assaulted her—sly, whispery voices that dug under her skin and found a home echoing inside her brain. The voices were familiar, and they made her falter. Since she'd begun, she'd known that she _must_move forward, but the voices made her doubt the direction she was taking. They scraped against her self-worth, making her feel insignificant and foolish. Another set of voices came in, these equally as familiar, but boisterous and demanding attention instead. These voices urged her backwards, back to Harry, back to a place before Harry. They made her doubt herself as a person and her ability to stand on her own. Suddenly, she felt the need to ask for help about where she should go and what she should do.

Ginny clapped her hands over her ears and ran down the lane, reminding herself that this was _her_life and that her choices were no one's business but her own. The voices still seeped in—they had successfully burrowed into her heart, so she couldn't quite escape them—but she ignored them the best she could. When the shadows fell away and the lane was once again bright with sunlight, she dropped her arms but remained wary.

Hermione stepped out of the hedges. "I can help you get out."

"How?" Ginny asked.

With her wand, Hermione blasted a hole in the hedges, showing Ginny the entrance of the maze.

"It's been right here the whole time. Won't you go back?"

"No, I can't go back," Ginny said. "And you can't be Hermione. Hermione would never help me cheat like this. I have to go forward!"

As she spoke, the imposter began to change shape, its teeth elongating into sharp points, its eyes turning red, claws tearing out of its fingertips. Ginny ran in the only direction she could go: forward. She ran until her lungs burned, until her legs ached, until she'd nearly made up her mind to give in, to turn around and go back to the entrance just because it would be easier than this.

The fake Hermione howled, and Ginny spun around to see what had happened to it. Draco stood over the fallen beast, his wand pointed over its heart.

"Can you trust me?" he asked. Not _did_she trust him—_could_she trust him.

Ginny took a few deep breaths, staring between Draco and the slain imposter, which had returned to its disguise of Hermione and looked too much like her for comfort. She had to move forward. "Yes." And then with more certainty: "I can."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" she replied heatedly.

He held out his hand, and despite her words she doubted herself again. What if the voices were right? Or what if this was an imposter as well? But it was impossible for her to know all the answers, so she had to move forward on faith. She had to trust the Draco that stood before her, but mostly she had to trust herself.

She took his hand, and the hedges opened up, revealing the center of the maze.

"How do we get back out?" she asked.

He smirked and pulled her closer to his side. "Together."

**-xXx-**

**Submission Nine**

**Too Far Lost In This Maze**

Draco took a deep breath to brace himself. He had seen this frustrated look on Ginny before.

"I am tired, Malfoy," Draco raised an eyebrow at the use of his family name. Going to his kitchen, he poured two glasses of sherry.

"Tired of what, my darling?" He came around and held a glass to her. She didn't take it, so he set it down on the table near to where she was standing. Calmly, he walked over to the chair facing her, while she stood ramrod straight, barely having moved into the room.

"Don't do that," she quietly fumed. "Don't call me your 'darling'," She added, practically snarling the endearment.

Draco opened his mouth to say something, then realised that he didn't quite know what to say. Truth be told, Draco didn't know what Ginny was angry about this time. He sat there, as passive as he could, thinking over the past few days and what he could possibly have done.

Finally, he asked, "Is this about tonight?"

"You're father is dead, and all you could do is sit through the funeral with a smirk on your face until your mother gave you a hug. And even then, your 'mask' broke for only about a half second." She shook her head, in disbelief.

Draco thought about her outburst for a moment. He supposed she was right. For the past month, whenever she had tried to subtly bring up his father's death, he had just as smoothly changed the subject.

But she didn't know that if he broke down and just really let it all out, he would probably be left catatonic. The truth was, he didn't know exactly how to deal with it all, he had equally loved and hated his father with all his being. He had never felt so strongly about any one person, and for this man to be taken away from him so abruptly, well, how could he deal with the sudden rush of anger, sadness and guilt?

And so, he just didn't. He walled it off.

The show of emotion at the funeral was for his mother and her pain, which was not in his power to erase. And when he felt the frustration of that build, he had shut that off, too.

"Being in a relationship with you is like being in some endless maze. As soon as I think I've gotten close to you – really, actually close to you – I find myself only further away." Ginny sighed, a sad, defeated sigh that made Draco stiffen. "I can't do this any more," she whispered so low that Draco almost didn't hear her.

But he did, and he held his breath; not quite being able to, or perhaps not wanting to process what was happening.

He tried to see her face, but she was looking to the ground, her wild hair hiding her from his scrutiny.

He clenched his jaw against this new onslaught of emotion. He had been holding this torrential agony for so long that Ginny's whispered words were just about enough to break him.

He finally moved, holding her hand, forcing her gaze to his.

"I just... without you..." For possibly the first time in his life, he was struggling to form a sentence. He blamed her tear-filled eyes.

"Draco, I love you. But I've never felt so alone in my life. I've tried so hard to be here for you, I really have, but I feel like I can't reach you any more. You're not... here."

She took a step back, away from him, dropping his hand.

"I'm sorry. Maybe this isn't the right way, but I don't know what else to do." He began to shake his head, because he refused to let this happen. He hadn't meant to let it become like this, he hadn't meant to push her away, just like his father had pushed away his mother. "I will always love you, Draco."

With a sad smile, Ginny put her small hand above his heart, then leaned forward. Surprised, Draco closed his eyes as he felt her soft lips on his. He felt her tears against his cheek.

"Find me when you are ready, my love," she whispered.

Draco reacted too slowly as, with a sniffle, Ginny apparated away, leaving him standing alone, suddenly empty.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Ten**

**Cornered in a Circle**

The maze was designed to be a test, to see if two students of different houses could work together. However after the horrific events of the Triwizard Tournament a few years early the goal of this maze was not to make it to the centre but to the other side. The day had finally come when Professor Sprout had deemed the maze ready; the Hogwarts maze challenge would begin.

Several pairs of students would enter the maze at a time and race to see who made it out first, with the first from each group to enter a series of finals. The first few rounds seemed quite uneventful as far as the professors were concerned. The third round featuring the unusual pair of Draco Malfoy of Slytherin and Ginny Weasley of Gryffindor would prove to be far more interesting.

"Look Malfoy, I'm about as happy about this as you are. So don't even bother to complain and let's just get on with it" Ginny snapped at him.

"Works for me."

Moments later the starting whistle blew and the duo ran into the maze. They narrowly avoided what they thought were a Muggle plant, the venus flytrap. Both shuddered at the thought of getting bitten by one after spying their razor sharp teeth.

Further and further into the maze they trekked spotting different creatures on the way. Ginny laughed to herself imaging Ron's reaction as she spied a pack of young acromantula. Further down the path lay the first creature actually blocking the entire path in front of them.

"Is that a niffler?" Ginny asked.

"I think so. Don't they like shiny things? Give it a sickle or two... Wait, who I am kidding, you wouldn't even have a knut would you, Weasley?" Draco smirked and tossed a few coins in its direction. Appeased by the silver coins the niffler moved and let them be on their way.

"Weasley! This is the third dead end we've hit. Where the in Merlin's name are you taking us?" Draco snarled.

"Me!? I've been following you Malfoy, encase you've failed to notice" came the exasperated reply.

"This is ridiculous Malfoy, I don't know what you expect…"

She was cut off mid sentence by a hand being clamped over her mouth.

"Quiet, I think I hear something" he murmured.

Ginny raised an eyebrow but complied with the request.

Sure enough, only moments later a strange creature that neither Draco nor Ginny had seen before came around the corner. It looked tame enough, until it started to breathe fire.

"RUN!"

The foliage passed in a blur as they ran as fast as they could, weaving their way through the paths.

"Crap! It's another dead end!" she cried.

And then she realised. She had lost Draco.

Smoke started to fill the air, as the creature loomed closer, blocking her only escape. Frantically she began to search the shrubbery for a weak spot, somewhere she could crawl through when a hand appeared, as if from nowhere and pulled her through just as a burst of flames filled the space where she had once stood.

"Ginny, are you okay?"

Her rescuer was none other than her maze partner, Draco Malfoy. He'd somehow managed to find the weak spot she had been searching for.

"Yes."

"Good"

"Malfoy… Thank you"

"Always willing to help a damsel in distress, even if it is a Weasley" he smirked back.

Ginny smiled at him, sensing that he was actually rather relieved.

"Come on, let's get out of here"

A pointer spell put them in the right direction and they headed off, wands held at the ready. Twenty minutes later, each with a newfound respect for the other they crossed the finish line first.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Eleven**

**Gravel and Thorns**

She was lost.

She couldn't remember what the world looked like outside of these tall, tall hedges and narrow gravel pathways that led only to dead ends. She couldn't remember a sound other than the whisper of wind slipping across the top of her prison and the crunch of gravel under her tired feet. She'd stopped running hours ago.

Rounding a corner, she came face to face with another dead end and felt her heart slip a little lower into her chest. Was this despair? She turned slowly and began walking the other direction, running her left hand along the hedge-wall. Thorns bit at her fingertips. She ignored them and let the scratches drop their tiny dots of red onto the gravel.

She wished for the thousandth time that there was something to fight in this labyrinth, that is was more like the one Harry had been in all those years ago. A bit of adrenaline would feel wonderful. She was going a bit mad with the pain of pent-up magic that coursed deep within her soul—sometimes she could think of nothing but grasping her wand and blowing away the maze with a satisfying shout of _"Reducto!"_

But there was no wand. There had never been a battle here. There was nothing but hedge, gravel, and Ginny.

Tears itched in her eyes and she blinked them away ferociously. But even as fresh little drops fell from her scratched fingers, she spotted the little rusty dots on the other edge of the gravel—her old dried blood, her sick little breadcrumbs—and knew that she'd been this way before.

With a shuddery sob, she sank onto the gravel path. She scooped stained gravel into each hand and threw it at the towering hedges with a raw, desperate scream.

"Gin? Gin, what the hell?"

Her pillow was wet. She sniffled and rolled over to face the cool gray eyes of her husband.

"Another nightmare?" he asked. She shook her head 'no,' and he raised an eyebrow. "You screamed."

"I—I don't know why," she lied, rolling away from him. "Go back to sleep. _You_ have a big day tomorrow, _Minister_."

"It's a big day for both of us," he corrected gently. "I need my lovely little wife at my side."

She dug her nails into her fingertips, opening the old wounds. He didn't notice.

She felt him lie back down behind her. "I know you're lying to me, Gin. I won't let you do it for much longer," he said quietly, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close, curling his legs into hers and kissing the top of her head with cloying tenderness.

Was she lying? She wasn't sure. Was he lying? For the millionth time, she wished there was something to fight. Some adrenaline. Some use for the magic that ached in her soul.

He was asleep in under a minute. Ginny lay frozen in his arms, certain that as soon as she drifted off to sleep, she'd wake up to gravel and thorns.

She was so, so lost.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Twelve**

**Measuring Up**

Draco Malfoy was quite enjoying the summer sun as he reclined on the marble slab and soaked up the warmth, carefully remembering to place screening charms upon himself first - a sunburn, he was quite certain, would not become him.

As lovely as it was though, the reclining was becoming slightly _boring_.Now if he was surrounded by his adoring fans it would be different, but he was here alone waiting on someone to finally come along and it was starting to get tedious.

He was tempted to call it a day and head back to the Manor, but as much as the desire to leave was compelling the thought of a dozen angry witches finding him flying around after spending their afternoon looking for him made him decide staying put was the best - and safest - action.

Besides, he could hear some of the fighting from his spot; witches discovering the 'pets' in the maze, as well as finding other witches and letting hexes fly. The yells of surprise, fear and anger made for an interesting story as Draco tried to piece together what was going on around him.

Some of the yells seemed to be getting closer and Draco smiled as he recognised the voice of one particularly vocal witch.

"_Marazio!_" she thundered, and Draco heard a loud bang followed by a squeal. Ah, she's found the Indochinese Fire Breathing Piglets, he thought to himself. She rounded the corner soon after that, mildly singed and her hair a mess, but still standing and with a ferocious look on her face.

"_Malfoy_," she growled, and stalked up to him.

"Hello Ginny," he said, with a satisfied grin on his face.

"Don't you 'hello Ginny' me," she cried. "Do you know what I've been through?! I've waded through a swamp, fought off two other witches, climbed a wall that kept growing, been attacked by a grindylow, three gnomes, bats and a horde of Pygmy Puffs - of all things! Then there was the time I was challenged to a duel by a House-Elf dressed as a knight, had to answers riddles to get past sentries and finally was quizzed by a - what I thought was a nice little old lady but was actually a dragon - on etiquette!"

"You forgot the Indochinese Fire Breathing Piglets," he helpfully pointed out, earning himself a glare.

"Those were adorable though," she conceded before frowning. "You owe me an explanation for all of this Draco," she resolutely declared to his surprise.

"Isn't it pretty obvious?"

Evidently not, judging by the death gaze sent his way.

"Well I'm a Malfoy," he stated. "Malfoys deserve the best of everything; clothes, food, wives . . . you have to prove yourself to be one of us."

Ginny threw her hands up into the air. "Of course! You bloody Malfoys, of course this all seems reasonable to you. Tell me Draco, do all your girlfriends have to do this? I can't imagine Perfect Pansy risk breaking a nail to get through this maze to meet you in the middle."

"The maze is only for serious contenders," Draco shot back, "Pansy would never have gotten this far."

"What about all those other girls in the maze? What are they here for?!"

"Competition," Draco replied simply.

"And you're the prize?"

Draco shot her a dumb-founded before gesturing to himself. "One of the best there is."

She snorted, to Draco's displeasure.

"I still don't agree with you making me do this, just so I can measure up and continue to be your girlfriend."

"You're not measuring up to be my girlfriend!" Draco cried, exasperated. "Didn't you listen? You're measuring up to be a Malfoy!"

"Oh."

"Yes."

Ginny just stared at him. "That's, that's a pretty rubbish way to propose."

"Well you ruined it, didn't you? I was going to do it when you entered but you came in all jumpy and annoyed - wasn't exactly the best time."

"You are so infuriatingly amazing," she said, with completely mixed emotions. She grabbed his head and pulled him down to her, kissing him with all her love . . . and anger.

"Let's get back to the Manor, I need a drink," she murmured as she pulled away.

It was only as they entered the foyer did Ginny remember the other witches. She dismissed them from her mind quickly: if they thought they were strong enough to take Ginny on, then they ought to be strong enough to get out of that bloody maze.

* * *

Twelve lovely drabbles for you to read and love, but which two did you love the most? Vote NOW on the poll on our profile!

Results for this round will be posted next week, and remember that all votes will be counted to decide the Overall Most Awesome Drabble and the Overall Most Awesome Author!

Vote now and spread the word! [And leave a review? I know, we ask a lot.]

See you this time next week for Round Two.


	3. Round 2 (I)

**Round One Results:**

**First place:** Gravel and Thorns; Too Far Lost In This Maze.

**Second place:** Devotion; Measuring Up; Of Fear and Truth.

**Third place:** Martyr for the Stars; Meet me at the Center.

Well done to the winners.

* * *

**Disclaimer: Some of the responses for Round Two may paraphrase or quote from the inspiration.**

* * *

**-xXx-**

**Round Two (I)**

**Influence: ** Opinions Won't Keep You Warm At Night – Kisschasy.

**Must include: **A political alliance.

**Word count:** 1000 words.

**-xXx-**

**Submission One**

**Bitter Things**

"So what do you have?" Draco Malfoy asked the informant on the other side of the dark alley. "And it had better be good."

"It is," said a voice that seemed teasingly familiar to him.

"I don't do business with anyone I can't see," he said brusquely.

The figure stood still as he strode forward and twitched the cloak aside. Ginny Weasley's bright red hair shone back at him. Her mouth twisted into a bitter, cynical smile. "Surprised, Malfoy?"

"I suppose you could say that." He watched her warily.

"Don't fret your pretty little head over it. I'm here to help."

He shouldn't have been surprised, he thought. After all, his side knew the truth. Ginny's family had rejected her completely.

"So what secrets do you have to share, Weasley?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It's not a matter of secrets. My contribution to your father's campaign to become Minister of Magic is to pose as your new girlfriend. That'll undermine Harry quite nicely."

"I suppose it will," he said.

She was installed in the guest bedroom in his London flat. They began attending public events together, and she smiled and stroked his arm and snuggled into his side when the cameras clicked. He wondered what she really felt. The warmth of her body stayed with him through the long, lonely nights as he lay awake in his own bedroom, staring at the ceiling.

At a large public dinner, Draco felt Ginny stiffen against him. Harry Potter was standing next to the punch bowl on the other side of the room, and his eyes were filled with hatred.

"Take me away," Ginny whispered into Draco's ear, her voice fragile.

They went back to his flat.

"Why are you really helping us?" he asked after they'd drunk their way through nearly an entire bottle of Firewhisky.

"Because Harry…he…" Her eyes went unfocused, as if watching a horror unfold that he could not see.

"Shh, Ginny," he said. He realized too late that he had called her by her first name.

"Have you learned why the Weasley girl decided to aid our cause?" Lucius asked him the next day. Draco stood in front of his father's desk, his hands clenching into fists where they could not be seen. He did not answer.

That night, a knock came at his bedroom door. "I can't be alone," said Ginny, shivering.

"Then come to me," said Draco. He threw the covers back.

She went into his bed, and he made love to her with more gentleness, more generosity, than he had ever dreamed was in him. Afterwards, they fell asleep in each others' arms.

Very early the next morning, Ginny was already up and dressing. "I have to go," she said.

"Oh, no, you don't." He tried to collect his thoughts and failed.

"I've made a mistake," she whispered.

Draco tightened his lips and strode out of the room, refusing to look at her.

"I believe we need a final touch," said Lucius an hour later. "I've received a reliable tip that compromising information about Potter may be found at the Ministry."

"You can't," said Draco. "They'll catch you; there are no secrets in that place-"

His father had ceased to listen, he knew.

"Where are you going?" asked Ginny when he stormed back into his flat and grabbed a cloak.

"I thought you wouldn't care," he snarled.

She bent her head. "I do. And I don't want to leave you… Draco."

"Then we'll go together," he said, and he took her hand.

They opened the door to the filing room to see Harry Potter and several Aurors frogmarching his father out of it. The Weasley family rushed forward in a body, and they absorbed Ginny with smiles and embraces. Finally, numbly, Draco understood what had really happened. As Ginny was pushed out the door, she dropped her head and did not look at him.

Six months later, Draco stood on a sandy beach in front of a villa, looking out at the cold North Sea. They gave him everything he asked for, here. It was nearly a luxury resort. If one could somehow manage to block the death and despair lurking in every breath of air in Azkaban, of course.

A small, slight figure approached him from the path leading to the woods. His lips tightened. He had been refusing all visitors, so who—

Ginny's red hair shimmered in the sun. He stared at her.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"I—I tried not to betray you, Draco." She looked away from him. It was no answer, as he knew very well.

"You didn't try very hard, then, Weasley," he said. "Tired of family dinners at the hovel so quickly?"

"It's not like that. My family won't really take me back," she said. "Unless I marry Harry, and I won't."

"Isn't a white wedding with Potter your lifelong dream?"

She raised her head to him, sorrowful, defiant. "He raped me six months ago, Malfoy. They wouldn't believe me then; they won't now. No reason why you should—"

Somehow they were kneeling in the sand, holding each other up, and he was whispering her name over and over like a magical spell that could never be broken.

"I won't go away from you," she finally said.

"Ginny," he whispered, stroking her hair. "I am here until I die. You can't get me out."

"I knew that."

"Then why did you come here?"

"You can't get out, Draco. But I can stay here."

The meaning of what she had said spread over him.

"I'm selfish. I'm weak," he said. "I should let you go. If I had any decency in me, I would. But I won't."

"Good. Because you've healed me, and I won't leave you now. No matter what." She kissed him.

_No matter what_. "I like the sound of that," said Draco.

And they walked into the bright sunlight of Azkaban, every bitter thing become hope.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Two**

**Benefaction**

Draco stalked into his office, slamming the door shut so hard that it bounced open again, and he scowled at the offending object. Clearly, nothing was going to go his way this morning if he couldn't even slam a door properly.

He took a deep breath and sat down at his desk, pulling out the latest policy proposals for review.

It wasn't much longer before there was a timid knock on the door. "Enter," he commanded sharply, and knew his assistant had arrived from the click-clack of heels across the marble floor of his office. She waited in silence until he finished reviewing the documents, signing the parchment with a flourish of his quill.

"Good morning, Mister Malfoy," Orla Quirke said affably, "I have your nine o'clock here to see you, and your portkey to the Annual International Magical Relations Gala tonight has arrived. Madame Delacour has assured me your dress robes will be delivered shortly."

He nodded. "Excellent, you can show Weasley in."

Orla paused to unnecessarily adjust her thickly framed glasses, and he narrowed his eyes at her. She was stalling. "What else?"

"The Prophet has published another article..." Her sentence trailed off as she brushed a piece of imaginary lint from her skirt.

Draco closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as frustration welled up inside him. Taking another deep breath, he picked up a stack of parchment and tidied the pile.

"Bring me a copy of The Prophet immediately. I'll see Weasley now."

It was only a minute later that his old colleague Percy Weasley strolled into the room with a confident looking Ginny Weasley strutting behind him. _A rodent infestation. Brilliant._

"If Orla is going to let just anyone waltz into my office unannounced, then perhaps I should have her sacked." Draco said, scowling at the pair as he stood and shook Percy's hand.

Ginny returned his look with a grimace. "No need for that, Malfoy, I only arrived a moment before Percy was shown in. The poor girl must have been rather flustered to unexpectedly come across such a renowned Quidditch star."

Draco was absolutely positive that Orla had never been flustered in her life, and had heard enough about Ginny Weasley from her brother to know that she could be modest to a fault. Logic said that she had intentionally slipped past his receptionist and secretaries... But why? "You'll understand if I'm reluctant to offer you a seat, then."

Ginny sat down in one of the leather chairs opposite his desk anyway, reclining a little too casually as her robes parted to reveal her toned legs when she crossed them. Percy occupied the other chair, looking anything but comfortable in his current predicament.

Draco steepled his fingers under his chin, waiting for one of them to cut to the chase; Malfoys were above playing such trivial games, after all.

Percy cracked first. "We have... a proposal for the Gala tonight."

Draco raised a single brow at the statement. "'A proposal,'" he repeated, flatly.

Ginny mistook his remark for interest, if the knowing glint in her molten gold eyes was any indication, but instead of elaborating she coolly lifted one hand to examine her manicure, as though waiting for something.

Another knock came from the door, and Orla entered with a tray of fine china and a carefully folded copy of The Prophet levitated before her. Ever discreet, she didn't bat an eye at Ginny's inexplicable appearance in his office, but promptly placed the tray on his desk and left once more.

A glance at the headline for today's paper made his stomach drop. _A Malfoy's Secret Shame_, the article proclaimed boldly, _Draco spells 'Doom' for muggle-borns_.

"It seems you have a scandal on your hands, Malfoy," Percy said in a business-like tone, and Draco looked directly at each of the Weasleys, his gaze unflinching.

Ginny gave him a knowing smile. "As we were saying, we have a proposal for you."

"I'm listening." He said, careful to remain composed and unaffected.

"Of course you are well aware, appearances are everything," Percy Weasley put on the winning political smile they had both learnt during their time working in the Ministry's International Magical Relations Department, as though to emphasise the point. "We'd like to help you with the chip on your shoulder, so to speak."

"If you were to be seen socially with someone who was perceived to be the antithesis of how you've been portrayed by this recent rash of articles, the backlash from them would be considerably less." Ginny interjected.

Draco tilted his head silently, swallowing any snappy remarks out of respect for his old colleague. Besides, it didn't take a genius to see where Ginny was heading with this, and he had to admit he wasn't entirely displeased by the idea. Weasley was an attractive witch, who even into her late twenties was still seen as one of the darlings of the wizarding community due to her family's notoriety and their efforts surrounding the war. These occasions tended to be frightfully dreary anyway, so having her on his arm this evening mightn't be _such _a hardship...

"An intriguing proposal," he said, then paused to lift his tea cup and take a deliberative sip, "What's the catch?"

"No catch. I'm just doing a favour for a friend." Ginny said as she lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

He leant back in his chair, taking a moment to deliberate. "Okay, you have yourself a deal."

Percy gave Ginny a bemused look once they were safely on the street and she removed her disillusionment charm. "I still don't understand why you went to all that trouble just to get Hermione a date for tonight."

Ginny smiled up at her older brother. "Hermione needs the political benefaction. Besides, he'll start thinking of me as a woman, not a Weasley, now that I've planted the idea." She said with a wink, before Apparating to tell Hermione the good news.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Three**

**Not Ours To Keep**

She was being left out again. That was nothing new, but it was ironic that for all they insisted she was too young to be of help, here they were turning her into a pivotal key to the end of the war. A flurry of exhausted, agitated voices continued to drift up the stairs.

"It's the only way."

"What are you saying, Arthur? She's your _daughter_."

"And don't I know it! Shite, I'm sorry. Ssh, love, please don't cry. I wish my life was enough. I wish it could have been anybody else—you know I do."

"He's right, Molly. We can no longer afford to be selfish, and the final choice still rests with her."

"What choice? Between saving herself or saving the lives of countless others? You all well know we raised her too well for that. Oh God, Ginny. My only daughter."

Her mother's keening cry and her father's broken voice twined like barb wire around Ginny's heart. She closed her eyes and breathed deep. She would be calm, freeze her emotions with an icy will, and do what had to be done.

**...**

He regarded her with a cool calculating stare, leaning back in the blue velvet armchair with the commanding presence of a king ensconced on his throne. With a silent hand gesture, he signaled for the cowering house-elf to levitate the teapot and pour her a steaming cup.

She sat rigid straight on the settee across from him, her hands in her lap, and refused to let him intimidate her, holding his gaze with equal intensity. Her tea remained untouched.

The silence threatened to suffocate her, but she only held her head higher, refusing to drown.

After some time, his lips pulled back in a non-smile that was not quite a grimace, and she felt a weight lift off her shoulders, as if she'd passed some unknown test.

"Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs, hands clasped together, his eyes hard and serious. "There is no love between us, and there never will be."

_Think of the dead and dying. Cold. Emotionless._ She chuckled mirthlessly. "Who has the leisure to indulge in frivolities like love these days?"

In his eyes, a spark of surprise flared and died in under a second. A flicker of curiosity lasted a bit longer, taking some edge from his stare. "I must confess I didn't expect you to agree so readily. Though I'm still only half convinced that this isn't some kind of blatant trap or a more long-winded scheme."

"Listen, Mal—no, Draco. I can call you Draco, can't I, considering what we are to become?"

He hesitated but nodded ever so slightly.

"And can we disregard any other formality and masks while we're at it? I'm tired of pretense to be honest. All this tip-toeing around and half-truths. This stopped being a war over moralities long ago." She could feel her own eyes growing hard and cold with the clarity of her convictions. "What both sides want isn't so different now with Voldemort dead. The Order wants the killings and torture to stop. Your side wants the blood flow to end before the last of the pureblood lines are terminated and your precious treasuries are decimated. The problem is that neither side knows how to stop now that they've started. We all have the same fears of facing imprisonment, death, and disenfranchisement at the hands of the winner. That leaves only one way out."

"Where no one wins."

"Exactly."

"You are aware that the bonding must be permanent on pains of death to make an effective statement to the public, and even then we might ultimately fail or be killed in the process?"

She shrugged. "We have no choice. You have a handful of my brothers and friends. We have your mother."

Every line of his face seemed to grow sharp as a blade's edge. Hostility and a dangerous heat seeped into his voice. "So eager to sacrifice yourself...you do realize you haven't abandoned your morality as much as you pretend to?"

"You haven't either, however much you pretend you never had a conscience in the first place."

Ginny reached for the cup and saucer and carefully lifted them towards her lips. She took a sip of the tepid tea before looking at him evenly over the porcelain's pristine edge. "It's your move, _Draco_."

**-xXx-**

**Submission Four**

**Two Alliances**

"So to conclude, the Finnish Ministry for Magic and Sorcery would be delighted to form a political alliance with the British Ministry of Magic to strengthen International Magical Relations."

Ginny breathed a huge sigh of relief. Finally, after nearly two months of arguments, deals and tremendously boring meetings, they had gained the alliance. As the wife of the Minister for Magic, Harry Potter, she had to attend all of the meetings that he couldn't attend – which for the last five months had been all of them, as Harry was in the USA for a year helping their ministry. In all honesty, being his wife was absolute hell – nothing like the fantasy she had dreamed about at Hogwarts.

Plastering a smile on her face, she got up and walked down the meeting table to where the Finnish ministers were talking with Neville Longbottom, who was now the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Hello, can I just say how delighted I am to be able to form an alliance with your ministry." She put on a show of being the Ministers wife, acting polite, formal and interested – when actually she was dying to get out, have a cigarette and try to relax for the first time since this had begun.

The Finnish Minister, a small, balding man with a permanently confused expression, turned to her.

"I am sure that our ministries will work together very well." He said simply, before returning to his conversation.

Ginny nodded politely before turning away. If no-one else wanted to have a conversation then she could just slip out and try and get home...

"Weasley? Can I have a word?" A man drawled from behind her.

She stiffened. She would recognise that tone anywhere. Why oh why did he have to talk to her NOW.

"It's Potter, actually – unlike you I managed to settle down with someone, as opposed to being so irritating no-one wants to be with me. Now what do you want?" She turned around to meet the smirking grey eyes of Draco Malfoy. How on Earth did he manage to get his _eyes _to smirk?

"Ahh, but Weasley unlike you I've never had to tie myself down – I have the luxury of sampling the whole basket, so to speak." He smirked again, his voice infuriatingly smug.

"Right, out with it Malfoy – what do you want? I really want to get out of here and have a cigarette and I need to get home and floo call my husband."

Malfoy's eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch. "My my, the perfect wife of The Chosen One Harry Potter smokes? What would His Royal Highness do if he knew?"

Ginny ground her teeth together. Malfoy was so frustrating! How he had gotten to be head of the Auror Office she would never know. "You should show more respect to your boss, _Ferret._ Besides, Harry does know – I don't think he approves, but that's none of your business. Now, why are you keeping me here when I could be relaxing for the first time in months?"

Malfoy dropped his head to level with Ginny's ear and breathed huskily. "You know, I'm sure if you wanted I could help you _relax..._"

Ginny shoved him away, before remembering where she was and straightening up. "If that's all, I'm out of here."

"Not so fast Weasley, I need to talk to you about the Auror intake for this year. Normally I talk to Potter, but as he's buggered off I suppose you'll do." His face had resumed a perfectly serious expression that was almost believable. Except, of course, this was Malfoy.

"Fine, but make it quick. Unlike you I actually have a life."

"You have a husband who cares so little for you he left for the USA without you, a family who tolerates you but prefers your husband and can't understand why you haven't started popping out kids yet, and a smoking habit that suggests how depressed you really are. Yet you accuse me of having no life?" His voice was low, but the undertone was deadly and cut through Ginny like a knife.

She just about controlled herself enough to grab his hand and yank him out of the meeting room into the corridor before letting rip.

"HOW DARE YOU! YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING LITTLE FERRET. HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE MY HUSBAND OF NOT CARING FOR ME? HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE MY FAMILY OF NOT LOVING ME? HOW..." At this point, she broke down and burst into tears.

She didn't realise she was still holding his hand.

After a moment, she felt a warm hand rubbing circles on her back.

"It's ok..." The murmur made her realise who it was.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Her voice sounded squeaky from crying.

"I didn't mean to make you cry... I... I'm... urm, I apologise." He sounded unsure of what to say for the first time ever, and it surprised Ginny so much she stopped crying and looked up.

"Did you just _apologise_?" She asked incredulously.

Malfoy looked at her for a moment, then squeezed the hand he was still holding and leaned in, looking into her eyes. "Believe it or not, Ginny, I do have a heart."

He squeezed her hand one last time then walked away.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Five**

**Pretend**

Sometimes, when they weren't alone, she could pretend that everything was all right. When other people surrounded them, she could put behind her the self-doubt that she felt and the nagging sense that everything in their relationship had gone terribly wrong and imagine an alternate time and place where she could be blissfully unaware of what he really thought about her even now, years later. She could play the part and act happy, even as the void in her grew larger with each superficial laugh and meaningless gesture.

But when they were alone, those unbidden thoughts of what they really were would flood through her.

Her head rested against her shoulder and her arm wrapped around his middle. She wanted desperately to find comfort in him, to feel happily married. Like a normal girl with a normal husband. But his rigidity shook her from that fantasy. How could she feel warm in his arms if he was too disgusted by her to touch her, to hold her?

"Draco?" she whispered through the deafening silence. They hardly ever spoke, and when they did, any amicability between them felt excruciatingly forced. "Are you still awake?" she asked, even though she knew that he was. Though his breathing was steady, there was a distinct lack of deepness to it, and she had spent far too many nights awake and listening to how he sounded in sleep to miss it.

His hand wound around her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Yeah, I am," Draco said. His voice wasn't unpleasant, and if Ginny hadn't known better she would have almost thought he'd sounded affectionate. "Go back to sleep."

But she did know better. "I can't."

She could sense in him the slightly bitter air of irritation, the hint of disgust as he touched her. The tiniest indication of condescendence in his speech. He thought lowly of her, and she could feel it in everything he said and did.

"Go back to sleep, Gin," he said, almost mechanically pressing a feather-light kiss at her temple. It was a gesture that she assumed he meant to be comforting, but the way he pulled back so quickly – as though the touch of his lips against her skin for the briefest of seconds was cause to wash his mouth out was soap – told her that there was no meaning behind it.

To him, she was dirty. Her Muggle-loving, blood traitorous self was nothing more than filth, and no matter how much he denied it, she knew that he still believed in everything that his father had instilled in him from a young age. He was still better because he valued clean, pure magical lineage, and she didn't. His alliance to the Dark Lord – though he'd hated what he'd been asked to do – was still what he believed in after all the years that had passed since his defeat.

Even though he'd given in – and even though he'd fallen for her on some level – he'd still never truly accepted her or her way of thinking.

And now, fifteen years and two children later, Ginny would lay in his arms every night, feeling the draft coming in from their opened bedroom window, the comfort of her husband's loose embrace not giving her even the barest hint of warmth.

* * *

Note: The rest of the submissions for Round Two can be found in the following chapter.


	4. Round 2 (II)

**Round Two (II)**

**Influence: ** Opinions Won't Keep You Warm At Night – Kisschasy.

**Must include: **A political alliance.

**Word count:** 1000 words.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Six**

**Clockwork**

The hall was stuffy and smelt like expensive perfume mixed with sweat. There were too many people, too many fake smiles and lies disguised behind charming words. Wizards and witches laughed as they clinked their glasses together, like clockwork figurines just going through the motions. A job well done, they said. A perfect beginning to a perfect alliance.

Bile rose in her throat, acidic and choking, and for a moment Ginny felt like screaming. She felt like throwing her own celebratory cup at these people and watching the glass shatter into a hundred pieces; see the champagne spread on the floor and turn red to stain their perfect world with the blood they tried so hard to disguise. If she were to open the vaults in their banks, she knew their gold would be drenched in crimson; everything these people owned had been paid with blood. Blood and lies.

But she also knew it wouldn't make a difference. She could scream and smash things all she liked, and they would just turn their backs on the chaos as they always did. It was so much easier for them to pretend. So much easier to keep smiling. So much easier to lie.

"Pathetic, aren't they?"

She froze and turned to see Draco Malfoy leaning against the wall, watching her through steely eyes. She had never admired his looks; he was all sharp points and angles, to the point where his beauty seemed almost painful to look upon, like an ice sculpture that could cut at the slightest touch. Tonight, however, she couldn't help but notice the way his hair seemed to glow with the colours of moonlight when set against the stark black of his robes, or how his eyes seemed so much greyer than usual. He had never looked more striking, and she was annoyed to find that, for a moment, she couldn't bring herself to look away.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she muttered.

"Perhaps I simply wanted to enjoy the pleasure of your company." He stuffed his free hand into his pocket. "Or perhaps I am trying to escape the sycophantic fools who keep following me around, so I decided to take up residence beside a particularly murderous-looking redhead. Take your pick."

A reluctant smile curved her lips. "I would have thought you'd be enjoying this. It's what you're used to, isn't it?"

"I was bred into this society, but that doesn't mean I enjoy it." A hard glint entered his eyes. "After a while, you start to realise that everyone is just repeating the same motions; the only thing that changes are the ones sitting on the pedestal. They'll rule us like kings and queens, but once their use and charm is all dried up, the same people who fawned over them will then toss them aside like just another piece of junk."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

He gave a wry laugh. "Oh, I've sat on the pedestal, and been pushed off it. Lucky for me, I'm handsome and rich, so even if my reputation is as sullied as dirty water, people still come crawling back to me in the end."

Ginny took a sip of her champagne. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. You're not that handsome."

"I'm wounded," he responded, placing his hand over his heart.

"I might believe that if I thought you actually cared about my opinion, but I don't think you do." She looked him up and down, and a frown crossed her lips. "In fact, I wonder if you care about anything."

"Do you?" he asked, turning the question back on her.

She held his gaze, transfixed by the intense grey of his irises. A blink, a slight shake of her head, and then she was looking back at the other guests. "I care about my family," she said quietly. "I care about living in a society where justice is served fairly, and where mercy doesn't go hand-in-hand with an exchange of gold." Her hand trembled, and she tightened her grip on her glass. "I _hate_ the fact that the Minister of Magic has sold us all to the devil with this new alliance."

A faint smile touched his lips. "Still the idealist, I see."

"Maybe." She placed her glass down on the tray as one of the waitresses passed them. "Or maybe I'm just tired of acting like another piece of clockwork, too stuck in my own routine to see that the world doesn't have to be this way. Aren't you?"

"I'm afraid I've never been much of a fighter for justice," he responded, also placing his glass on the tray.

"Only for yourself, right?"

He laughed. "What can I say? We can't all be unselfish do-gooders like Potter. It's not my problem the world can't sort itself out."

Ginny's eyes flashed. "So you're content to just let things continue this way? You're willing to ignore the indecency and injustice around you because it's _not your problem_?"

Draco tilted her chin towards him with his finger. "You know, Weasley, you should get angry more often. It suits you."

Her cheeks burned and she smacked his hand away. "What has that got to do with anything?"

His mouth twitched. "Er, that was my not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject."

"Why?" she taunted. "Afraid you might not like what I have to say?"

"Quite frankly, politics bore me."

She folded her arms. "I should have known you'd say something like that."

"You should have," he agreed.

Ginny continued to glower. His smile widened a fraction.

"Come, Weasley. Let's call a truce. This is a celebration, isn't it?" He held out his hand. "Dance with me."

"Why?"

He laughed. "Why not?"

Ginny had no answer for that, so she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor to join the rest of the couples. Except she was not just another clockwork figurine, and as she looked into Draco's eyes, she thought that he might not be either.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Seven**

**Opinions and Alliances**

"I need your help," Ginny said imperiously, flipping a strand of bright hair over her shoulder.

Draco turned, arched an eyebrow, and said, "I don't have much change in my pockets, Weasley, but," he produced a few coins, "you can have these Knuts."

Ginny rolled her eyes and pushed his hand away. In spite of having worked together at the Ministry for nearly a year now, he continued to treat her – not always jokingly – as he had while they were at Hogwarts.

"I need you to see if this witch," she produced a scrap of parchment from one of her pockets and unfolded it, "um…" she squinted, "Ardeline MacMahon, has anything to do with the Minister of Magical Safety."

"I don't think 'doing Weasley's dull research' is part of my job description," he said.

She sighed. "Malfoy, this is important, and it needs to get done right away. I've already got too much to do right now, so would you please just look that up for me when you have a chance?"

He plucked the note from between her fingers, nearly went cross-eyed trying to read her writing, and said, "There are no guarantees that I'll manage to get to it. We all have our work to do, you know."

She grinned. "Thank you!" And she breezed away, through the hallway and back to her desk.

•••

A few hours later, a shadow obscured Ginny's view of her paperwork. She looked up to see Draco standing above her, holding a few leaves of parchment in his hands.

"Do you have a minute?" he asked.

She nodded. "What is it? Did you find something?"

"Come with me," he said, and led her to the cafeteria on the floor below, where he found a seat in a corner, far from the rest of the employees milling about, looking for coffee and pumpkin scones.

He laid the pages on the table. "Look at this. That witch, Ardeline MacMahon, do you know who she is?" Ginny shook her head. "She's a part-time prostitute."

Ginny frowned. "What do you mean a _part-time_ prostitute?"

"Well, the rest of the time she's the chair of MacMahon-Finkle-Ronquisse Industries."

Ginny shook her head in exasperation. "If she's the chair of MFR Industries, she's not a bloody prostitute."

"Well what else would you call someone who uses sex for money and influence?"

She sighed. "Alright, but what does that have to do with the Minister of Magical Safety?"

"MFR Industries is in the process of promoting a new product," he slid a page across to her. "A potion, among whose side-effects include permanent amnesia and aneurysms. Obviously that isn't the sort of thing that the Department of Magical Safety would approve, is it? But MFR Industries is trying to get it approved anyway. And this MacMahon witch," he lowered his voice, "is sleeping with Artesio Redfern to do it!"

Ginny's eyes widened. "You're sure that information is correct?"

"Absolutely positive." He snorted crudely. "Well you know what they say – opinions won't keep you warm at night, and I guess Redfern thought his opinions on public safety weren't more important than a body in his bed."

She frowned and began rifling through the parchment. "You're absolutely sure this is right?"

"_Yes_, Weasley. I _do_ know how to do research."

"This is very bad," she murmured. "Very, very bad…"

He rolled his eyes. "Before you get too lost in your babbling to yourself, we need to discuss the small matter of payment."

"Payment? What on earth are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"I took time out of my _very_ busy schedule to accommodate you, and so it's only fair that you return the favour. Now usually when I do work for someone, I charge an hourly rate of 75 Galleons, and I'd say all that research took me at least three hours, so you're looking at 225 Galleons."

"I'm not paying you for that, Malfoy," she said, glaring at him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to deal with thi—"

"Not so fast, Weasley! If I'm not getting paid, then I deserve some other form of recompense, don't you agree?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, Malfoy, what do you want? I can get you one of those pumpkin scones, if you're so keen on repayment."

"I've already had enough for today," he said drily. "I was thinking lunch tomorrow – your treat, of course."

"I can think of better ways to spend my lunch hour, but fine, since you obviously won't let up until I agree to something." She took the papers and got up. "But don't think I'm taking you anywhere fancy, Malfoy! I don't intend to spend anything more than a few Knuts on you."

"I'd be surprised if you even had that much money in your pocket, Weasley."

She scowled at him and turned to go.

"A polite witch would say 'thank you'," he called after her.

She glanced over her shoulder. "And since when have I ever been a polite witch?"

**-xXx-**

**Submission Eight**

**Purely Political**

The pub was gloomy, cold, and half-deserted. A hag nursed a bottle of Firewhiskey in a booth toward the back, and Ginny kept the hood of her cloak up. She felt uncharacteristically wary.

She settled herself at one end of the bar and held up a finger to the barman, who set a pint of murky beer in front of her without a word. She sipped it tentatively then stared into the terrible brew, mindlessly tracing loose circles onto the bar with her fingertips.

"Red?" asked a low voice behind her. Her hand went flat on the bar-top, and she forced herself to exhale slowly before she replied.

"Hello, 'White.'"

He sat down next to her with a loose, casual confidence. Without being summoned, the barman appeared and reached for the Ogden's Old on the top shelf. 'White' hadn't worn a hood at all, and his platinum hair shone in the lamplight. There was no reason a Malfoy would need to hide himself in Knockturn, war or not.

"Well. I'm here," he said coolly. "Are you ready to talk, Ginny?"

She glowered at him. "Don't call me that."

He arched an eyebrow. "That's your name, isn't it? If you're worried about spies, this pub has secrecy charms on it that pre-date Merlin. No need for code-names here."

"Well, yes, but—" she spluttered. "Just … stick with Weasley."

He shrugged and took another drink. "Red it is, then," he said in a maddeningly civil tone. "What can I do for you, _Red_?"

She forced herself to drink more beer in a desperate attempt to take the edge off. He was unnerving her, and probably doing it on purpose. He had already guessed what she wanted, and he was already smug.

"Last year, you told me you had a way to end everything. The War, You-Know-Who, all of it. Do you still?"

He arched an eyebrow, and she couldn't tell if he was amused or surprised. "You hexed me and told me I was a disgusting, chauvinistic snake."

"And maybe you are. But would your plan still work?" she demanded.

"Yes." He lifted his chin and looked her over. "Are you telling me you'll do it?"

She wrapped her hands around her glass and squeezed. "I don't want to and I don't like it. But it's the least of the evils."

He took another idle sip. "Bitter words. I could be offended, Red. But even if you don't like the situation, I would imagine that doing something to keep your brothers and their children from dying would hardly be considered immoral."

He said it so casually, so comfortably, that it took a second for the ice-water to leech into her blood. _Bill and Victoire_. She swallowed, trying to push her heart back down into her chest. It wouldn't fit.

"Like you're _such_ a paragon of morality, _Malfoy_," she finally replied, emphasizing the words with as much sarcasm as she dared. He merely blinked at her. "I'm in this for justice, and goodness, and peace. I don't know what I was thinking," she continued as she stood. "I'll just be going now."

His hand caught her wrist, and with a sharp yank he had her back on the bar-stool Her hood slid off, but he didn't let go, even when the hag in the booth craned her neck to look over at the two of them.

"Make it about nobility and you lose, Gin," he said quietly, pulling her close. "Keep talking like it's about justice if you like, but we both know it's just shades of hate and bitterness, and those won't keep you warm at night. I would rather end the war, and I'll use any means to that end. But I don't want you to be my means if you're not truly willing."

"I still don't know why it has to be me." Her voice suddenly sounded sullen and young, and she hastily drank another gulp of beer.

Draco smirked. "Because I knew you'd listen to reason and not fly off in a whirl of gratuitous nobility and self-righteousness. And because you're young, female, and attractive, so it's believable." His smirk faded. "And because I was at_ that_ funeral, and you were the only one still crying."

She was unsurprised that he'd been at Bill's funeral. They knew that they were watched at every funeral, but the memory still stung, and she had to blink twice before she could look up at him.

"I'd have to tell my parents, at least," she said. "They've been through enough. I can't leave without explaining a little bit." They'd never forgive her, even if she told them everything.

Draco wrinkled his forehead. "If you used a secret keeper, to keep the rest of your Phoenix-friends from finding out, that would work."

"Will your parents care—?"

He made a noise that was almost a snort. "They cannot know. We'll have to do a bit of play-acting and make sure your Occlumency is on par, but they'll be too thrilled that I'm kissing the Dark Lord's boots again to care. All they care about is blood purity, anyway."

She shuddered. It was so much. But Victoire had been so young, and Hermione was pregnant, and Draco's plan was the best she'd heard in three years. She would be able keep her opinions to herself.

He was still squeezing her wrist.

"It would be purely political, then," she said quietly. "We'd kill You-Know-Who and then be done. No—no funny business."

He sighed and drained the rest of his drink. "As I said a year ago, we'd have to be undercover for at least a year to return me to the Dark Lord's grace, and probably another to get you close enough to finish it. But yes. Once he's rotting in the ground, we could dissolve our 'alliance.' A divorce would only take a few weeks."

**-xXx-**

**Submission Nine**

**Politicking**

Everyone was betting on Harry Potter to win the Ministry. Wherever you walked in wizarding Britain, posters of Harry were plastered on walls and over shop windows, the words _Potter for Minister! _appearing below his face after an impressive thunder shock animation. Poster-Harry's heroic pose and charming smile had no resemblance to the Harry Potter who had defeated Voldemort twenty years prior. That Harry had been humble and uncomfortable with fame. The current Harry not only embraced his fame but also wore it like a cloak and demanded that people compliment him on it. It was part of his campaign, but it had won wizarding Britain's hearts and its votes.

Ginny Weasley had designed the posters herself, from Harry's smarmy grin down to the thunderstruck slogan. She'd developed Harry's persona for the campaign as the confident war hero, the savior of the wizarding world. Ginny had spent late nights helping Harry write his campaign speeches, sent letters to influential people for donations, put together each and every outfit Harry had worn for public appearances. These were the jobs that campaign managers normally performed, and she performed them well. So well, in fact, that Harry was leading in the polls by over eight points. There was no way for the opposition to win.

However, she knew, maybe better than anyone, that the polls didn't matter. All it would take to bring Harry's campaign crumbling down to his feet would be one disastrous incident, one unsavory story. Within a day, the opposition could catch up. Within a week, the opposition could take the lead. And Ginny hoped to help him win.

The opposition, that is. Ginny would not be voting for Harry Potter in this election.

"Hey, Ginny?" Harry said, his cloak in one hand and some Floo powder in another.

"Yes, what is it?" Ginny asked, distracted by the piles of letters she was trying to sort so that assistants could reply to them the next morning.

"Thank you for all your help," he said. The corner of his mouth lifted in that way that used to make Ginny's stomach flutter and her throat close up—but that had been years ago. "I don't think I could have done this without you."

"Sure you could," she replied with a smile. "I haven't done anything that someone else couldn't have done."

"All the same, I'm glad _you're_ doing it. See you tomorrow." He smiled sheepishly and threw his Floo powder into the grate. With a flash of green flames, he was gone.

In the beginning, Ginny had been riddled with guilt, especially when Harry expressed his gratitude, which he had done often. As time went on, Ginny stopped thinking about her betrayal. Harry was caring and honest and sweet—he wasn't cut out to be the Minister of Magic. He wasn't capable of the politics behind the position. If he thought the campaigning, and the stress that went along with it, would end when he got into office, then he needed to be checked in to St. Mungo's immediately. Ginny had been the Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic for three years before she'd grown tired of the politics. She knew what went on in the Minster of Magic's office, and she also knew that Harry was no Minister of Magic.

As soon as the flames turned back to orange, she pushed the letters away and grabbed her handbag, Apparating when the cool leather was in her hands. She would come in early and finish her work tomorrow.

"It's about time."

Ginny, startled, spun around, but as soon as Draco Malfoy stepped out of the shadows, her body instantly relaxed.

"The election is next week. You know that I'm working overtime now. I wouldn't be surprised if you were too."

Draco stepped closer, his gait casual and confident with his hands in his pocket and his signature smirk on his face.

"The Scar verses the Smirk" was what the public was calling this election.

"Actually, we're not very busy over here," he said as he towered over her, standing so close that her shoulder pressed into his chest. She tried to breathe normally, tried not to be affected by his proximity—she failed on both counts. "With that information you gave us, I think we've got this election in the bag."

"You shouldn't say that. You have no idea how this will affect the election."

Draco stepped away, loosening his tie as he did so. "I'm sure we'll win. And I have you to thank for it."

Ginny's face flooded with color, but it wasn't shame, it was pride that made her body fill with heat. Pride—and him.

"Do you feel any guilt for betraying your best friend?" he asked.

Ginny shrugged. "I told him that I couldn't manage his campaign. He threw money at me. What was I supposed to do? Refuse?"

Draco pulled the tie off and draped it around Ginny's neck. "Leave that there, will you, love?" He grabbed her hands and placed them on his chest, over the buttons of his shirt. As she started on the first button, he said, "Refusing would have been the decent thing to do."

"I laugh at the idea of you lecturing me about the decent thing to do," she replied drily.

"All the same, your talents are wasted on Potter."

"I thought I was using my talents on you."

"Cheeky witch," he said with a laugh.

"Flattery, Mr. Malfoy, will get you nowhere," she replied, her grin growing.

"We're in the middle of a campaign, remember? Flattery gets you everywhere."

When the news broke that Harry had taken after Rubeus Hagrid and begun breeding Blast-Ended Skrewts, the fickle public voted Draco Malfoy into office in fear.

Needless to say that times had changed if a Blast-Ended Skrewt was more feared than a Malfoy.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Ten**

**And You Will Like It**

He wanted to vote against it, strike it down and ensure the thought was never resurrected. Many agreed with him but wouldn't publicly vote against it, not when doing so would be a blatant sign of dissent from strong public opinion.

His lip curled as he imagined the Wizengamot chamber, bursting with venerable witches and wizards, one by one voting in acceptance. He paused when his imaginary voting came to him, his imagined self torn too.

He scowled; even in his daydreams he was afraid of putting a foot wrong.

**...**

Her arm snaked around his waist and, despite himself, he smiled.

"You shouldn't be here," he murmured, before starting to turn to face her.

The grip on his waist tightened and he felt the strong point of a wand pressed against his side a moment later.

"I'm afraid I'm not your blushing bride Mr Malfoy," the voice hissed. "At least, not _yet_."

He frowned, trying to place the voice but failed. "What do you want?"

The dark voice chuckled slightly. "The million Galleon question, no? I've been thinking this through for a _very_ long ti-"

She was cut off as Draco stamped on her foot, grabbed her wand and flipped her around before pushing her to the floor. They landed awkwardly, but he had the upper hand. Straddling her and holding her down in place, he was about to bring his wand up to threaten her and demand answers when she twisted, kneed him in a sensitive region while forcing him to the ground. Their positions reversed she had managed to disarm him and retrieve her wand. In the fight she had lost her hood though, and her face was revealed to him.

"_Weasley_?" he exclaimed, fighting his curiosity to ask where she had been.

As if reading his mind she explained, now wary of further attacks. "Time-Turner accident, you know how it is," she started casually. "Fell back in time, spent a couple of years at Hogwarts when it had just been constructed before getting to the eighteenth century. Lots of fun, spent a bit of time with your ancestor in fact. Wouldn't have guessed you came from him, nice bloke. Few years later and all of a sudden I'm back again in, only three years after I left."

Despite wanting to know more, Draco scowled. "A very nice story Weasley, but it doesn't explain quite why you're in my home threatening me as I prepare for my wedding day."

"Ah yes. The wedding."

A sense of foreboding grew in Draco. This was not the little girl he went to school with - this was a woman who had travelled through time for years and survived.

"You see Draco, I had a lot of time on my hands while I was, _indisposed_, and so I did quite a bit of thinking; of how the world was, _and how it ought to be_. Imagine my surprise when I come back and discover that, despite Voldemort, not much has changed. Which is where you come in. Your family has a lot of power, power that I need. I'm going to use your influence to do what I need."

"And why would I go along with this?" No longer even thinking of escaping, just wanting to know _more _of this crazy witch's schemes.

"Your ancestor owed me a life debt Draco Malfoy. He's not here anymore so you're going to be the one to pay it."

His heart stilled. With that debt she could literally destroy his carefully rebuilt life and she knew that . . . and seemed to relish in the fact.

"You're going to write some letters and cancel your little wedding to Ms Greengrass, then we ought to plan ours. As Mrs Malfoy I can achieve everything I want."

She climbed off him and stood up, looking down on him still prone on the floor. "I understand that you must hate me and this and will want to fight against it but don't. I've learnt things you'd never want me to show you and, really?" she leant down and whispered, "by the end of this you're going to love being my husband."

She grinned happily. "I want to change the world Draco Malfoy, and you're going to help me do it."

**...**

"_The Wizengamot is now in session. Voting on the proposed equal rights act for all sentient beings is first on the agenda..." _

**-xXx-**

**Submission Eleven**

**Chess Pieces**

As Draco placed his arm around Ginny's waist, he felt her stiffen. Only he noticed, and it took all his strength to not grimace.

The photographers standing in front of him, on the other hand, kept snapping up pictures. After all, what's bigger than a high profile love story among two famously warring families? And so the two posed for the rabble of photographers and reporters.

"Arthur Quinn, The Daily Prophet," yelled out a stocky, yellow-haired man. "Could you tell us why we should vote you for Minister, rather than Mr. Zabini?"

In all honesty, he had no desire to become Minister of Magic. But Draco had been alarmed when he learnt that Blaise was running for the post, and had found an ally in the form of Ginny, who had herself discovered Zabini's many 'misdemeanours' while working as an Auror. No one had believed her, not until Draco had overheard her arguing with Potter about it.

Ginny had persuaded him to run against Zabini. He was sceptical it would work, considering his own history. But Ginny had reassured him that a relationship between the two of them would guarantee a majority vote.

So now, Draco was prepared for this question. Slapping on a sincere and charming smile, he began, "I have a chequered history, one that has long been examined by the media, so I won't stand here and make excuses. I will say that I carry a heavy burden of grief and regret." He paused for effect, then looked down at Ginny, pulling her closer to him. On cue, she smiled up at him. "But I have come out stronger. I now only wish to serve my countrymen, with the hope to right the many wrongs and to destroy old prejudices that are still held up by some."

The pleased murmur of reporters continued until another yelled out, "Won't you oblige us with a kiss for the papers?" She was probably from Witch Weekly.

Draco cleared his throat. Turning to Ginny, he raised an eyebrow in challenge. Though Ginny was all smiles, he had come to know her well these past few months and could see past the simpering. Her eyes had a hardened edge, but Draco was a Malfoy and he took it in stride. He gathered her closer to him and lowered his mouth to hers. Without ceremony, he kissed her like a man in love, doing his best to drown out the snapping of the cameras and whooping of the crowd. He savoured the feel of her lips, the taste of her mouth, but hesitated when he felt her compliance, knowing it to be false.

With his forehead pressed to hers and a sigh breathed against her lips, he pulled back, not daring to look into her eyes.

"If that will be all, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to get my fiancé out of the cold." With one last smile that left everyone charmed, he smoothly manoeuvred Ginny and himself into the house he shared with her.

Just as the door closed behind him, Ginny shrugged his arm off and stomped away.

Draco rolled his eyes. This game was getting a little old. He moved toward the lounge where Ginny was getting herself a drink.

"You keep going on like that and you'll become an alcoholic," he drawled, picking up the cashmere jacket she had left on the ground. He carefully draped it across the back of a chair before taking off his own coat.

"Yes, mother," Ginny seethed, facing the fireplace.

Draco narrowed. Grabbing her arm, he spun her around to him. Her drink sloshed on to his wrist, but he ignored the stench of whiskey, heightened by the heat of the fire burning so close.

"Ginevra, do not forget that I am not your enemy," Draco said calmly, though the storm raging behind his eyes said otherwise. "This was very much your scheme. Do not take your frustrations out on me."

But Ginny didn't cower. She was breathing heavily, staring at him with wild eyes.

"Don't you forget, Malfoy, that we are only 'playing' at this relationship for the sake of this political campaign. Don't go enjoying it too much."

Draco scoffed. The woman would soon drive him batty.

"Thinking a little highly of ourselves, are we?" he mocked.

"This lie ends the moment you are elected Minister," Ginny promised, glaring at him.

"If it weren't for your ignorant friends, we wouldn't be in this mess," Draco spat back.

"If it weren't for your heartless friend, we wouldn't be in this nightmare!" Ginny yelled.

They had had this argument numerous times already. Draco was tired.

"Am I so vile that this charade is a nightmare to you?" He hated how pathetic he sounded, but the fire behind Ginny's eyes visibly died.

"I'm just tired of living this lie. Of everyone thinking I've gone insane." Because she was engaged to Draco Malfoy. She wouldn't say it, but he knew.

"Don't worry. In the face of the love story that's fuelling the Malfoy political campaign, Zabini will lose the election, I'll become Minister, then you can leave me amicably, and all will be right with the world again. You'll be able to go back to Potter."

To his surprise, she scoffed and shook her head. "I'm going to bed. Maybe tomorrow will be easier."

Draco wasn't so sure. Every day it was getting harder and harder. Not so much to maintain the lie, but to separate it from reality.

If he were to be honest with himself, Draco would realise that he wished this life with Ginny wasn't a lie, and it broke him a little more everyday when Ginny fought it.

* * *

Eleven lovely drabbles for you to read and love, but which two did you love the most? Vote NOW on the poll on our profile! Please note that votes submitted in review form will _not_ be counted.

Results for this round will be posted next week, and remember that all votes will be counted to decide the Overall Most Awesome Drabble and the Overall Most Awesome Author!

Vote now and spread the word! [And leave a review? I know, we ask a lot.]

See you this time next week for Round Three.


	5. Round 3 (I)

**Round Two Results:**

**First Place:** Clockwork.

**Second Place:** Purely Political; And You Will Like It.

Well done to the winners.

* * *

**-xXx-**

**Round Three (I)**

**Prompt: **A bad hair day

**Genre: **Comedy

**Word count:** 1000 words.

**-xXx-**

**Submission One**

**Incendiary**

Draco tapped his foot impatiently as he waited in line for Filch, The Moronic Squib Extraordinaire, to check each student's permission slips.

He frowned when he glanced up to the clock that stood sentinel over the courtyard. It was already eleven in the morning, and had been waiting far too long already. Draco had important things to do today.

"Crabbe, Goyle." He snapped, and the boys needed no more direction as they barged forward, making space for the three of them to move further up the queue. He sauntered behind them, smirking haughtily at the other students as he went past. The boys weren't the clearest remembralls in the cabinet, but at least they did the few tricks he'd taught them well.

"Watch it, Malfoy!" a feminine voice yelled, and the smirk almost fell from his lips when he whirled around to find Ginny Weasley returning to her spot in the line. He caught himself just in time, and instead raised a single brow at her. "How dare you tell me what to do, Weasley. Remember your place."

Weasley seemed amused by that remark. "Oh, but I do remember my place." She said in an uncharacteristically cool manner, then brushed him aside to resume her position in front of him. Other students seemed to hesitantly take their cue from her, and began to return to their places as though he, Draco Lucius Malfoy, didn't exist. Inconceivable.

He turned back to Crabbe and Goyle. "What are you waiting for?" Draco snapped.

They exchanged a blank look, and Draco wondered not for the first time why he bothered to keep the morons around. "Stop them. Now." He ordered through gritted teeth, and with a shrug the boys barreled forward once again.

The students who had slowly been returning to their spots jumped out of the way again, at least until Ginny Weasley whirled around, wand aimed straight at the trio, and Crabbe and Goyle stopped dead in their tracks. "Don't try to move me, or I'll hex all three of you into next week." She said as she lifted her chin, daring them to test her.

Draco briefly entertained the idea of marching straight up to the insolent girl and telling her exactly what she could do with her hexes, but instantly dashed the idea at the thought of being hit point-blank by a hot headed Weasley. Besides, he had a far more amusing plan.

"Don't listen to that filthy muggle-lover." He said imperiously, and Crabbe and Goyle charged forward once more, like the well-trained animals they were.

Ginny made an irritated noise and set about following through with her threat, and Draco smirked as he pulled out his wand. "Incendio capillatio!" He said, his smirk widening at Ginny's sudden shrieks.

"Malfoy!" She screamed, wide eyed as her hands grabbed at her hair - or rather, where her hair had been moments ago.

"My, Wealsey, you're rather splendid at doing justice to the term 'flaming ginger'." He remarked demurely as he regarded the glowing red flames dancing from her scalp.

"Y-you... you..." She blathered and he lifted his hand to his mouth in a mock-yawn before turning to Crabbe and Goyle, who were slowly rising from the ground.

"Let's go." He snapped, then pushed past Weasley and the other students who seemed to be too stunned to object.

He'd almost made it to Filch, and victory was in sight, when suddenly he was knocked to the ground with the force of a bludger.

"Fix it!" A voice yelled as bony fists reigned down on his back.

"Get her off me!" Draco yelled at his cronies as he tried to put his arms over his head and protect himself, but the hits kept on coming and she somehow managed to twist him onto his back. His head clanged against the cobblestones below when she grabbed his shoulders and shook him forcefully, and he tried to push her off of him to no avail. Her wand was pressed to his throat where his adam's apple bobbed nervously, and her nose was pressed against his she leant so close.

His face grew hot from the heat of the flames flickering above him. "Fix. It. Now." He heard her say, barely audible above the rushing in his ears.

Suddenly the heat vanished, and Ginny was lifted into the air.

"What is the meaning of this?" A voice said, and he turned his head to see McGonagall striding across the courtyard towards them, followed by a frantic looking Filch. Ginny kicked her legs in the air where Hagrid held her off the ground until she realised that her hair had been returned to his usual flaming brilliance. Her reaction was instantaneous as she stopped flailing about and plunged her hands amongst the loose curls with a relieved expression.

"In all my years at this school I have never seen such volatile behaviour, Miss Weasley." McGonagall continued, shooting the girl in question a piercing look.

Ginny in turn threw a venomous glare at Draco. "It was self defense." She said, clenching her fists.

McGonagall turned to Draco. "And Mr Malfoy, I had expected better from you than to play at such dangerous magic."

Draco quickly got to his feet, brushing the dirt from his robes. "Weasley was-"

"That's enough," McGonagall cut him off, and he fell silent with a scowl. "I don't want to hear another word from either of you about who started it."

She turned to Filch, who was now looking positively gleeful. "Argus, neither Mr Malfoy or Miss Weasley are to step foot outside the school grounds today, and they will be serving detention with you every Saturday until the next Hogsmeade weekend. Perhaps they'll have learnt to act like responsible adults by then."

"But-"

"No buts, Mr Malfoy. Whatever it was you had planned can wait."

Draco's jaw dropped, and he fixed Ginny with a seething glare. She'd ruined everything.

"You're going to regret this." He spat at her, before storming off.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Two**

**Pride and Drunken Promises**

_I'm forgetting something—something important._

But Ginny didn't pursue the thought. The warm bed was way too comfortable and for once the tyrant wasn't crowding her space—

_Oh no._

She bolted upwards, alone in her bed. Unable to locate the alarm clock, she reached over to the bedside table and tugged the drawer open.

"You're LATE! I'd tell you to get up, you lazy, clock-abusing woman, but it's probably too LA—"

She slammed the drawer shut, swearing breathlessly as she scrambled for the adjoining bathroom. No time to brush her teeth—only a quick gargle. She stumbled back into the bedroom only to slip on clothing she'd left on the floor. Her knee met hardwood with an eye-watering bang. She rolled onto her side, whimpering in pain. Maddeningly, his infuriating I-told-you-so smirk sprung into her mind, his laughter echoing almost tangibly through the room. _God, I hate him. This is _all_ his damn fault. _But if she wanted to be freed of him, she had to hurry.

_Where in Merlin's Beard is my wand? Oh forget it. Blouse. Skirt. Blazer. Stockings._ _What am I forgetting?_

"Your hair is atrocious, dear. You'll never live it down disposing of your man like _that_," offered the dressing mirror.

"Oh shut up," she replied crankily.

The mirror sniffed. "He's right you know. Mornings make you an absolute troll."

Ginny grabbed the nearest blunt object, a crystal unicorn, and brandished it threateningly. The unicorn screamed when it realized her intentions. Hastily, the mirror retreated back into inanimation. She silenced the unicorn by stuffing it into a drawer.

His influence had gone way too far, even turning her possessions against her. _Damn him. _But the stupid mirror was right. Her massive hair looked like something a Kneazle had hacked up. She couldn't give him the satisfaction by showing up like this. Wandless, she reached for the nearest brush.

"Ouch! Bloody mother—" She tugged again. When the brush didn't give, horror slid ice-cold down her back.

The effing brush was stuck in her hair.

Contorting her neck to check, she found her hair twined in a snarled ball around the brush. It wasn't even her brush but _his_—expensive, oddly shaped, and apparently eager to eat her hair. She was going to kill him.

With murderous intent, she renewed her search for her wand, but to her mortification minutes later, his drawling voice drifted into the room. "Since you failed to show up _again_, darling, it's been pushed back three months more."

Pride booted her towards the bathroom.

He sounded immediately suspicious when she didn't yell back in outrage. "Ginny?"

His knocking came just seconds after she locked the bathroom door.

"What are you doing?"

"Bathing!" She filled the tub and rapidly undressed.

"You're lying. You hate morning baths." He sounded almost concerned—if she could believe he was capable of the sentiment.

"It's my goddamn flat. Can't I bathe whenever the hell I want to?"

"If you're upset about the postponement, remember that it's not my fault. _I_ showed up on time."

"Then why didn't you wake me?"

"Maybe it's because the last time I tried, you punched me—in the _eye_."

"I'm still not apologizing. You had it coming for tickling me, you fiend."

"Oh sure, make me the villain. I'm not going to talk to you through a door. Open up."

She hurriedly dumped in some Instant Suds Powder and slipped into the tub, turning the hair-and-brush tangle towards the wall.

Predictably, he barged in anyway. Ignoring her scowl, he perched on the tub's edge, still dressed in his impeccable suit. "So why didn't you bother to show up this time?" he asked nonchalantly.

She huffed in exasperation. "Can't you just move out in the meantime?"

"Are you a glutton for pain? I told you. We married under very old, traditional bindings, love. It's either my place or yours, and since you're bloody stubborn, I've had to make do."

"Vows shouldn't count if you can't remember making them," she grumbled.

"I _did_ warn you to avoid the Ogden's Black Special."

"Then why the hell did you go along with it?"

"You've no idea how persuasive you can be." His eyes darkened, and she hated how with just a gaze, he could trigger a coil of warmth right at her center.

Forgetting herself, she leaned over to grab something solid to chuck at him.

"What in Salazar's Balls is in your hair?"

She swiftly pulled back, but not before he'd identified the object and nearly fell into the tub laughing. In revenge, she tugged at his jacket. His momentum took care of the rest, ruining the thousand-Galleon suit in the process.

His laughter dissolved into water-filled sputters, but irritatingly, he merely stood up to shed his wet clothing while smirking at her.

She threw her hands up in frustration. "I give up," she said, fighting to keep her eyes trained on his face and not on the soaked white shirt being slowly unbuttoned.

She pointed an accusing finger, attempting to channel the anger that was quickly leaving her with each sliver of toned chest revealed. _Damn him._ "It's been three failed attempts and half a year since. If _you_ want a divorce so bad, then you make the effort to get me to court on time. I'm not spending another miserable morning trying with all of my possessions conspiring against me thanks to _your_ meddling."

He froze with two buttons left. She swallowed back what was certainly _not_ a groan of impatience.

"So, after nearly biting my head off claiming it was my fault we got into this, you're suddenly okay with this arrangement?"

"I-I frankly don't care anymore."

"Hmm. Eyes up here, Ginny." He looked positively gleeful, like a cat that caught the canary.

Before she could pull his ego back down, he leaned in and crushed his lips to hers. It was another thing she hated—the way he could turn her to slush with just a kiss. _Damn him._

**-xXx-**

**Submission Three**

**Sometimes**

Sometimes things happen for a reason. And if they don't, I will continue to pretend that they do because I know that good things can come from the unfortunate and the unexpected. Things that, in hindsight, seem totally unrelated or irrelevant can sometimes come together like destiny. And sometimes, that's what helps me to feel better about the day that my husband noticed me as someone other than the girl Weasley for the first time, even though it didn't feel all that glamorous when it happened…

I recall waking up late that morning. Either my alarm did not wake me or it had malfunctioned in some way. Nevertheless, I woke up with a mere fifteen minutes before I was due in for my shift at St. Mungo's. With little else in mind besides getting to the hospital on time, I hopped into the shower, hopped back out, and dressed myself in my hideous lime green robes in record time. Breakfast was forgotten, as was the rest of my tedious morning routine. I Apparated to my regular point – which was about a block from the hospital – with only two minutes to spare.

As I entered the building and pushed my way into the lift, I felt like there was something going on around me that I was missing. A side effect of being late is often that once misses out on the morning gossip in the tea room. I was unconcerned about it; I knew that, sooner or later, someone would fill me in on the juiciness that had everyone talking.

Carol, the receptionist, barely looked up from her trashy magazine as she handed me my paperwork, schedule, and patient records for my day's appointments. I didn't bother to thank her because I knew she wasn't listening anyway.

I opened the file as I headed to my office, my nose so buried in my paperwork that I was completely oblivious to what was going on around me. Vaguely, I was able to register the normal hustle and bustle of the other Healers and mediwitches running around to take care of the patients, but unfortunately I did not notice the door that I ran into, face first.

It took me a moment to realize where I was, but I knew immediately that I was not at my office. Of course that's what happens when I am attempt to make up for my tardiness by multitasking.

And of course it had to be Healer Malfoy's opened office door that I walked into with my nose.

My cheeks flushed crimson as it registered to me that I had fallen on my arse and that all of my paperwork had been scattered all around me. I could feel my face grow even hotter as I glanced up and noticed the grey eyes that were staring back at me, gleaming with amusement at my embarrassment.

"Oh – erm – sorry," I said, moving onto my knees so that I could begin picking up my things. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Need a hand?" he asked, turning his chair to the side as he stood from his seat. He adjusted his robes as he approached me and bent down beside me.

I glanced up again and felt my blush travel further down my neck. Why did it have to be _his_ office. I bloody well knew he'd never let me live it down. "No, no," I insisted. "I've got all this."

Draco's eyes remained amused. "Healer Weasley, I am not referring to helping you gather your patient files," he said.

Of course I had no idea what he was talking about. "What are you referring to then, Healer Malfoy?"

His eyes continued to smile at me. It was disturbing. Ever since he and I had become colleagues, we hadn't interacted much, but when we did, almost everything he said to me was dripping with sarcasm. But today, though he was behaving rather differently, I thought to myself – not for the first time – that it was a damn shame that such a pretty face had to be wasted on someone with such an ugly personality.

"Earth to Weasley," he said, sounding somewhat impatient. "Please come into my office. And shut the door behind you."

Puzzled and feeling even more stupid at the fact that I'd been caught daydreaming, I did as I was told and sat in the chair opposite of his.

Much to my surprise, Draco did not sit down behind his desk. Rather, he began rummaging through his drawers until he picked up a few items – a mirror, a hairbrush, and a hair tie. I lifted my eyebrows in confusion. Why, exactly, did Malfoy keep these things in his desk?

"Are we playing beauty parlour, Draco?" I asked sardonically.

He looked at me almost blankly for a moment before handing me the mirror. "As gorgeous as you are naturally, Weasley, I think I'm going to go ahead and just do you a favour this once…"

Draco tossed the brush in the air and caught it effortlessly as he began to walk in my direction. Before I knew what was happening, I could feel the sharp sting of the brush ripping through the rat's nest of red hair that I was now able to see in the small hand mirror. _Oh, bloody hell_.

Reading my thoughts, he began to laugh heartily. "Did you bother to look in a mirror this morning, love?"

I flushed again. "I slept in," I answered haughtily as I felt him tug on my hair and twist it into a plait.

"There," he said, coming around to look me in the eye. He regarded me coolly for a moment before smirking. "Now you really do look gorgeous."

He tucked a stray tendril behind my ear and returned to his seat, and I couldn't help but think that time had been good to him.

I smiled as I left his office. I had no intention of staying away.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Four**

**The Bird**

Draco opened his eyes a crack. He groaned quietly as light hit his tender pupils, and raised a cold, heavy hand to his hot, pounding forehead.

_Salazar,_ but he'd never had a hangover like this before! Even breathing hurt. He let his burning eyes rove a bit over the bed-sheets. He was in far too much pain to move and look at more than that. And – much to his chagrin – it seemed that his bedding was covered in a layer of confetti.

_Why?_

He closed his eyes again and groaned softly. And then he felt his bed … shift. He grunted, and a female voice answered, hoarsely, "_Ow._"

He grunted again in assent, and tried to fall back asleep, but whoever was beside him was making it very difficult, what with her incessant _moving_.

"Bloody stop that," he mumbled. But she didn't stop, and so he was forced to do something he very much didn't want to – he rolled onto his side, opened his eyes to see who the offending witch was, and glared.

Freckled back. Red hair. Nice arse.

Weasley.

_Goddamnit._

"Wharraya doing immy bed?" he managed to get out.

She turned around slowly – obviously in as much pain as he was – covered her bare chest with the sheets (_damn)_ and opened her mouth to speak. "I'm…"

She stopped. Stared. Began to giggle quietly.

"_What?_"

But she didn't answer, only kept giggling, until eventually she said, "Your hair!"

He glared and rolled over, and managed to fall back asleep after some time.

When he woke up again, Ginny was gone, and his head was feeling a bit better – only a bit. He pushed himself onto his elbows and looked around, gauging the damage. Surprisingly not that bad. Confetti everywhere, his clothes strewn across the room, and a few things overturned, but all easily fixable. And a hangover potion was waiting by his bedside. _Perfect._

He downed the rancid concoction quickly, grimacing as it burned down his throat, but feeling better almost immediately. He reclined again for a few minutes before finally getting out of bed.

Cleaning could wait until later. For now, he was starved, and he shouted, "Bixy!"

The elf appeared almost immediately by his feet.

"Master called?"

"Bring me breakfast," he said, and shooed the elf from the room.

Such good creatures – never even commenting on the odd things the saw, like Draco's decided nudity.

The man sighed and paced the room, plucking up his discarded clothes and tossing them into a hamper. He passed by a full length mirror carrying a pair of boxers, halted, and slowly turned back to look at himself.

He stared.

His hair was moulded into an elaborate sculpture of a swan flapping its wings.

_My hair is moulded into an elaborate sculpture of a swan flapping its wings._

_What the fuck._

"Elf!" he roared.

Bixy Apparated into the room. "Yes, master?"

"Did Weasley leave?" he asked.

"The witch, master?"

"Yes, stupid bloody elf."

Bixy shook his head. "No master. She is eating breakfast downstairs."

He glowered. "Leave me."

He quickly threw on some clothes and stormed down into the dining room. "Weasley!"

Ginny looked up, bewildered, her mouth full of scrambled egg, and said something incoherent with her mouth full.

"Bloody swallow, woman," he said.

She wrinkled her nose, giggled crassly, and swallowed. "What is it, Draco?"  
"_What_ did you do to my hair?" he asked, motioning to the hair-bird frozen in the midst of alighting from his head.

She sniggered. "I promise I didn't do anything!" She paused briefly. "Or at least, I don't remember doing anything." She sniggered some more. "Oh _Merlin,_ but that looks stupid, though!"

He glared at her. "Bloody _fuck!_" he snapped. What am I supposed to do about this? He tapped at the bird with his fist. "It's hard as a rock! How am I supposed to get my hair back to normal?"

Ginny twisted her mouth up to prevent any more laughter from bubbling through. "Have you tried a spell?"

"Yeah, Weasley? Do you know any spells for getting _bird sculptures_ out of your hair? Is this something that often happens to you?"

She brought her hands to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

He huffed loudly.

"Malfoy I think…" she bit her lip, "I think there's only one way to deal with this."

"Yeah? And what's that? You want to put worms on my head to feed the damn thing?"

She snorted. "Merlin no. What we have to do is – just keep an open mind about this, Malfoy – I think we have to shave your head."

His eyes widened in horror. "_Never!_ Absolutely not! Never! My hair is one of the wonders of the world! I cannot deprive the populace of this," he patted his bird, "glory, this wonder, this absolute perfection!"

She rolled her eyes. "It'll grow back, you big baby. Unless, of course, you want to go to work on Monday with a bird on your head?"

He frowned, mulling over this grave decision. Finally, reluctantly, he said, "Fine, Weasley. Come with me." She looked longingly at the remainder of her breakfast. "You can eat it later, you pig."

She glowered but acquiesced and followed him to his bathroom, where he presented her with a razor.

He closed his eyes and said, like a gravely tortured warrior, "Shave me, then!"

She took the blade to his head and began to cut away at the bird until nothing remained but white-blond stubble.

"Done," she said.

He looked in the mirror.

Stared.

"The horror! The _horror_!"

**-xXx-**

**Submission Five**

**Transfiguration Practice**

"Stupid Ferret!" Ginny yelled at the tiny bathroom mirror, trying desperately to smooth down her unruly hair.

"What's he done now?" Hermione's voice drifted through from the dormitory.

"Just... ugh! My hair!" Ginny shouted back, searching desperately for her wand to try and fix it.

"What... oh." Hermione appeared in the doorway, her mouth dropping open in shock at the sight.

"Yes, indeed. Oh." Ginny snapped, turning around to face her. "Can you fix it?"

Ginny's hair had been transfigured into a mass of Slytherin green curls that, no matter what Ginny tried to do to them, would not stop sticking up from the top of her head like she had been electrocuted.

"You know, it kind of suits you..." Hermione joked.

"If I was going for the Einstein look." Ginny growled. "Which I'm NOT."

"You know who Einstein is?" Hermione sounded impressed.

"Ohh for goodness sake... you're useless! I'm going to find that Ferret and kill him."

"Or you could just embarrass him back." Hermione suggested, trying to suppress a grin. Ginny really did not know how funny she looked with her bright red face and green hair.

"Good idea!" Ginny snatched up her wand, which had been hiding under the sink, and sprinted out of the bathroom.

As she left, Hermione let out a snort of laughter. Malfoy really had surpassed himself this time.

As well as her shock of green hair, Ginny had a bright green, furry tail.

**…**

Smirking to himself, Malfoy strolled around the Slytherin common room idly twirling his wand in his hands. Earlier that day he had had a run in with the She-Weasel and had succeeded in transfiguring her hair into a passable imitation of that Muggle character Medusa's. She hadn't even noticed, even when he had added a bright green monkey tail and silver clawed feet. He had then spent the next half an hour laughing to himself about it and was looking forward to seeing her when she came to ask him to transfigure it back.

At that moment, the common room entrance burst open and a livid looking Ginny Weasley stepped out, brandishing her wand.

"Why hello Ginevra. You look a little flushed." He remarked, smirking at her.

"You... irritating... FERRET!" She yelled, pointing her wand at him. "Turn my hair back right now or I will ensure that you can't ever have children."

He quirked one perfect, blonde eyebrow at her. "Is that so? You've grown attached to the tail and claws then?"

"What?" Confused, Ginny turned to have a look, and while she was distracted Draco quickly and silently disarmed her.

"MALFOY! GIVE ME BACK MY WAND!" Ginny practically screamed.

"I'm afraid I don't feel very inclined to do that." He smirked again. "Unless... of course... you'd be willing to agree to my terms."

"Your terms?" Ginny's face went exceptionally pale. "What terms?"

"You have to do everything I say for one day. Be my slave. Oh, and you have to go down to dinner with your hair like that. I'll get rid of the tail though, I can be nice if I want to." He flashed a malicious grin.

"No. I won't do it. You can shove that idea right up your..."

"Temper temper Ginevra. Fine, I'll be keeping this then. Oh, and..." Calmly, he flicked his wand again and transfigured her skin a shiny silver colour. She almost looked like a Muggle robot, except with a shock of bright green hair and a scowling expression.

"Right THAT IS IT! You pompous ferrety prat, just you wait..." Ginny grabbed a candlestick from above the fireplace and flung it at Draco.

He dodged, using his Seeker's reflexes, and grabbed Ginny, pinning her against the wall.

"I told you to mind your temper, Ginevra. Di you not understand?" His voice was low and rough.

On a sudden, reckless impulse, she pressed her lips into his.

He froze for a second, then began to kiss back, his movements slightly frenzied.

Quick as a flash, she grabbed her wand and twisted away, grinning at Draco.

"Why, Malfoy, you shouldn't allow yourself to get distracted so easily."

His mouth had dropped open at her nerve. "What.."

Before he could compose himself, she shot a spell at him, transfiguring his hair Weasley red.

"Ha! Wanted to be a Weasley that much, did you? Let's see how everyone reacts when they see the great Draco Malfoy now."

Despite everything, Draco smirked. "The great Draco Malfoy am I? Well, it's nice to know my superiority has been acknowledged. Anyway, Ginevra, you still have the minor problem that you cannot transfigure yourself back. I charmed it quite specifically so only I could do that."

"Fine! In that case, I will tell everyone that you kissed me. What would it do to your reputation if they knew you had kissed a Weasley?" Ginny looked smug.

Draco quite calmly walked towards Ginny, hands in his pockets. She took a step back, then realised she had reached a wall. Draco reached his hands out and trapped her there, before smirking.

"The thing is, Weasley." He stared deep into her eyes. "I don't care what they think."

Her breath quickened. What was he about to do?

Calmly, Draco reached out and ran his hands down her sides. Then, just as calmly, he grabbed her wand again and tucked it back in his pocket.

"Finders keepers." With that parting shot, he left.

Ginny swore. "That idiotic Ferret..."

**-xXx-**

**Submission Six**

**Bad Heir Day**

Ginny examined her hair in the mirror. "I don't know why I let you talk me into this," she muttered. "I don't look a bit different."

"You wouldn't let the hairdresser elves do what Madame Medusa suggested," said Luna. "I suppose that's why."

"Luna, they wanted to put a beehive on my head! I'm allergic, you know." Ginny patted her curls dubiously. "Though I suppose it's a nice break from dodging Cruciatus for hours on end at the hands of the Carrows."

"It certainly is," agreed Luna. "I've heard that they're going to start in on even worse tortures soon. Waterboarding. The rack. Listening to boy bands."

Ginny shuddered. She sniffed the air. There it was again! A whiff of dark, dark coffee, possibly mixed with chocolate.

"Luna, how much longer will you be?"

"A couple of hours," Luna said vaguely. "They've still got to put in the snakes."

"Then I'll, um… be back later," said Ginny.

Actually, Ginny did know why she'd let Luna coax her into coming to _Madame Medusa's Hair Salon _during one of the rare Saturday mornings when they were able to sneak out of Hogwarts. She'd heard rumours that strictly rationed coffee had been smelled on the premises. And nobody, but nobody, could hinder Ginny Weasley from the hunt for some serious caffeine.

The rich, sensuous smell of coffee only increased as she tiptoed down the corridor. She pushed at the door at its very end. Her mouth fell open.

Draco Malfoy was sitting under a hair dryer, an enormous cup of coffee beside him.

"Oh!" she said involuntarily.

He turned round.

Her gaze flicked from him to the steaming coffee. "You—you—"

He looked at her with shock that was quickly masked. "Yes, Weasley?"

"You've got coffee," she breathed. "Can I have a sip?"

"No, you can't, partly because you're a disgusting blood traitor with appalling fashion sense." Draco gave her a long, leisurely survey from head to toe. "Taking all of those robes off would make for a remarkable improvement, Weasley… anyway, you don't have time for coffee, I'm afraid."

"Why not?" squeaked Ginny, unable to take her eyes off the swirling steam rising temptingly from the cup.

"Because now you've learned the deepest, darkest secret of the darkly dark-ish Dark Side," said Draco.

"But I don't know anything about Voldemort's evil plan to rule the world."

"Oh, that's not the deep dark secret," said Draco. "_This_ is." He leaned to one side. At the very edge of the table sat a bottle of _Platinum Playwizard #.001_. Open. Empty. _Used!_ She stared.

"So straight to the Malfoy dungeons you go, just as soon as I'm out from under this dryer," said Draco. "You can't be allowed to spread the news."

Ginny thought fast. "What exactly has Voldemort promised you, Malfoy?"

"Oh, the usual things. World domination. The power of life and death over all sentient beings. Controlling interest every new Starclucks franchise in the wizarding communities."

That last offer was a powerful lure indeed, thought Ginny. Still, she had quite a card to play. "It's too late, Malfoy. I know the truth now."

"I don't see how you'll get the news out whilst chained to a wall in the dungeons, Weasley."

"Rumour has it that Rita Skeeter's down there too, Malfoy. Do you really think I'll be able to keep secrets from her, even if I wanted to? She's been known to get information from flobberworms in comas."

"Damn. I _told _the Dark Lord that he'd get better press if he didn't torture journalists," said Draco.

She leaned down and whispered in his ear. "Everyone in the wizarding world will know the terrible truth, Malfoy. Your hair is just plain _brown_. Isn't it?"

"No… no… you can't…"

She reached out and ran her fingers down his school tie, tugging on it lightly. "_Isn't it?"_

Draco sank his head into his hands, suspiciously close to Ginny's cleavage. "Yes! It's true. Plain, plebian brown. I confess it all. Mother is the only Malfoy who's a natural blonde. Father's in here getting his roots touched up every four weeks as well. He said he'd disinherit me if I didn't keep the terrible secret…"

Ginny reached even further forward and smoothed his eyebrows. "Hmm. So that's why these are so dark."

"Uh…"

"And if I'm locked in the dungeon, then you can't very well visit me, can you?

"Why would I want to visit a _Weasley_?" He looked down. "What are you doing? You're trying to get the secrets of evil and doom out of me through horrible tortures, aren't you? Er, not that I want you to stop, or anything."

"Hmm. I think a golden-toned shade might go better with your skin," said Ginny, continuing her activities.

Draco gulped. "I might be able to convince Father to let me bring down your daily bread and water. Perhaps we could arrange it for those hours when you're chained to the wall. I'm sure you'll be writhing about quite a bit…"

"So I couldn't get _off _the wall?"

Beads of sweat began trickling down his forehead. Ginny doubted it was the effect of the dryer. "You might be allowed some short breaks, as long as you promise not to tell anyone."

"Or you could just not send me there to begin with. Then we'd be able to visit all we liked, Malfoy."

"How?" he croaked.

"We can meet here."

A few moments passed.

Ginny wondered briefly if Malfoy blushed the same shade of pink from head to toe. It might be interesting to find out.

"Perhaps I'll need to have my roots touched up more often," said Draco. "Every week. Every day. Every hour. I've got to keep up the Malfoy name, you know."

"Will you bring coffee?"

"I could arrange for special delivery from dedicated caffeine-elves. As long as you carry on with that tickly thing you're doing."

"Mr. Malfoy, I like the way you think."

* * *

Note: The rest of the submissions for Round Three can be found in the following chapter.


	6. Round 3 (II)

**Round Three (II)**

**Prompt: **A bad hair day

**Genre: **Comedy

**Word count:** 1000 words.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Seven**

**All's Hair in Love and War**

The sound of a dragon roaring exploded inside the seventh year Slytherin boys' dormitory, but only one person was still in bed when it went off. Draco's whole body jumped a foot into the air before he fell out of bed.

"WHAT THE EFFING HELL?" he screamed as he scrambled off the floor to find the source of the roaring. On Nott's bedside table sat a suspiciously Muggle contraption vibrating and screaming like a banshee. Rather than put his hands on it, he pulled his wand out from under his pillow and sent a well-aimed _Reducto_ at it. The device made an even more deafening roar as it shattered, springs and pieces of metal shooting all over the room.

It wasn't until silence finally reigned that Draco noticed the blasted thing was a clock, and that particular alarm only went off when Nott was extremely late.

Draco flew to his wardrobe and grabbed a robe, throwing it on over his shorts and stuffing his feet into his shoes at the same time. He wouldn't have time for breakfast, but if he hurried he could make it to Potions in time to look like he wasn't late. With one cast of his wand to style his hair, he was ready. Luckily, the Potions classroom was right down the corridor.

There were several people milling around in front of the door, including Potter, Weasley, and Granger. He threw them his best disgusted sneer and shoved past them, leaning casually against the wall as if their existences mattered not at all. Annoyance flared as the trio guffawed like heathens, but Draco merely rolled his eyes.

However, as more students trickled down to the dungeons for Potions, the laughter grew. Zabini joined Draco just as the classroom door opened, his own face contorting into sly snickers.

"_What_ does everyone find so funny?" Draco asked, filing into the classroom behind his idiotic classmates.

"It's you. It looks like you just rolled out of bed. No one can take that face of yours seriously looking like that."

Slowly, Draco reached a hand up to touch his hair. Zabini had spoken the truth. Draco's spell must have failed because instead of slicking back, his hair was fluffy and untamed. There was a flat spot in the back, but the rest of it stood straight out from his head. Trying not to panic, he surreptitiously cast the spell again, this time whispering the incantation under his breath to make it stronger.

He looked hopefully over at Zabini, who shook his head. For the rest of the hour, his classmates glanced back at him, snickering and pointing. Even Snape gave him an odd look every now and then, but he helped Draco out by not calling on him during class.

After class, Draco bee-lined it to the nearest toilet, and for the second time that morning, he jumped a foot in the air. His hair was worse than he'd thought. He tried his grooming spell again, but nothing happened, so he conjured a brush and made an attempt to tame it himself. His hair refused to budge. Every time the brush ran through his glorious locks, they sprung back into place. He ran some water over his head, but his hair still refused to lay flat.

Draco stared at his reflection in horror, water dripping down his face as his hair continued to look like a lion's mane. With that thought, suspicion flared within him, and his horror turned into anger.

He stalked out of the toilet, glaring at anyone who even looked in his direction. The fact that his glare was ineffective barely registered because he was too focused on searching the swarming corridors for one red-headed witch in particular.

Just as the next period should have been starting, their eyes met and she ducked down behind some of her friends, trying to sneak past him. Draco forced his way through the crowd and pulled her out of it, dragging her behind him to the first empty broom closet he could find.

"Nice place you've got here," she said, her lips turning up in a nervous smile.

Draco crossed his arms and glared down at her. A moment later, she burst into peals of laughter.

"Why are you all wet?" she asked between deafening shrieks.

Draco covered her mouth with his hand, pinning her against the wall. "If you don't stop that, we are going to get caught."

She made an effort to control herself, and when her shoulders finally stopped shaking, he let her go.

"Don't you like your hair today?" she asked with a smirk, no hint of that nervousness apparent.

Draco scowled. "What did you do?"

"It's just a stasis spell," she replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "I wanted you to remember what I did to you last night."

His bark of laughter clearly mocked her. "What you did to me? Don't think you had any kind of effect on me, Weasley."

"Didn't I?" she asked, taking a step closer to him. The closet, narrow and crowded as it was, left little room for Draco's retreat. His foot landed in a bucket when he took a step back. Another glare cut off her giggle. She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned in closer so that her breasts just brushed his chest. One hand slid around to the back of his neck where her fingernails scraped his nape in a teasingly gentle manner. Into his ear she whispered, "Am I having an effect now?"

Draco refused to admit how hot his body had become.

"If you want me to fix your hair, you can meet me in the same classroom at the same time tonight," she said as she opened the closet door.

When she was gone, he slumped against the wall, wondering how he could get her back.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Eight**

**Unruly**

Draco stared at himself in the mirror, his nose flaring in frustration. The last time he had stared so intensely at himself, he was in his sixth year with the burden to kill Dumbledore on his shoulders. This time, he didn't quite have the same burden, nor he was he reduced to tears, but he was feeling completely helplessness. There was nothing else he could possibly do. His hair would just simply have to be left so terribly out of place.

Draco grimaced, fingering the wild blond locks that dared to be called his own. He looked nothing like a Malfoy should. With a sigh and a slump of his shoulders, he moved away from the mirror, not wanting to look at himself any longer than he had to.

He wanted floo his mother and ask for help, but his pride wouldn't let him. He dared not go to any one else. There was simply nothing to be done. With a harrumph that ended on a pout, he Apparated to the Ministry where they would be honouring Potter, his Auror partner, for all the work they had done. Draco annoyingly had to be there.

Looking straight ahead, he sauntered into the Ministry, faltering when he felt eyes on him. He spotted Potter's own messy head. Perhaps Granger would have some spell that she'd have learnt while trying to tame the bristly bush she called hair.

When Harry finally saw him, he just stared for a bewildered moment.

"Malfoy?" Harry looked wide-eyed at the messy mop of almost-white hair atop Draco's head.

"Don't Potter," Draco stopped him with a stern look. "Just don't."

"Merlin Draco..." Granger began. Potter looked like he was going to combust with the effort of holding back laughter.

"You look like Harry!" Ron Weasley guffawed. In Draco's opinion, the Weasley looked like an orange hyena hanging off Granger like he was, so really, what right did he have to be laughing?

Harry looked equally affronted, which was a mild consolation.

"I need a drink," Draco grumbled.

Halfway to the bar, however, three of his worst nightmares got in his way.

"Who let a Boggart in here," he muttered in annoyance.

"Oh, poor Draco," Daphne Greengrass sneered at him. "See what happens when you start hanging out with the trash of society?" Pansy and Lavendar giggled. Draco felt like his ears would begin to bleed.

"You're right. I best be getting away from you, then," he replied with a smirk, about to walk past them.

"You better keep a look out, Draco. You're-"

"Draco!" Suddenly, in the midst of getting rather pathetically threatened, the youngest Weasley latched herself on to his arm. "There you are, dear! I thought you were getting me a drink."

Draco, opened his mouth, about to tell her to get off him, but then she winked, her eyes dancing with mischief. A soft hand entwined gently with his.

"I got interrupted, dear." He raised an eyebrow, not sure where she was going with that little smile playing on her lips. "These three decided to stop me to comment on my hair, of all things."

"Oh, I'm sorry for mucking it up, sweetie," Ginny giggled and kissed him just under his ear, making him close his eyes in surprise. "We got a little, er, caught up." She winked conspiratorially at the three idiots in front of him.

With a smile, Ginny dragged Malfoy to the bar, leaving the three girls to gape at them. Draco could commiserate, he was a little confused himself. Draco grabbed a glass of Firewhiskey. He downed the drink and motioned for another.

Turning, he saw the littlest Weasley lean languorously against the bar. His eyes travelled up the shapely leg that peaked out from the slit in her green dress, up her slim waist and rather modest cleavage, past the vibrant red hair brushing her shoulders, to the smirk that sat sinfully on her lips.

"What in Merlin's name was that?" Draco asked, annoyed that she had not only seen, but seemingly enjoyed his eyes travelling over her body.

"I think I just saved your pasty white butt, Draco _dear_," Ginny laughed. "I _really _dislike them," she sighed, then pulled out her wand from her handbag. "Want me to fix it?" She looked pointedly at his hair and Draco frowned. Really, couldn't he just have one bad hair day without everyone having a fit?

"Yes, okay." Draco uncertainly agreed, thinking a Weasley couldn't possibly make it any worse.

"Only if you tell me how you got it in that state." Draco glared at her, but when she only raised an eyebrow at him, he weighed his options.

"I broke it off with Astoria." Draco said, downing another glass of Firewhiskey. "She didn't take it too well."

Ginny winced, but her accompanying smile made it meritless. "I don't suppose my scene back there will make things any better. Sorry."

Draco shrugged while she muttered a spell. He felt his hair, sighing happily when he was able to brush the straight strands back with just his fingers.

"Thank you, Weasley. I do believe I owe."

Ginny's eyes widened slightly in what looked like horror, but she quickly ducked her head, putting her wand away and cleared her throat.

"No, no. It was nothing. I'll be seeing you then." With that, she rushed off.

Merlin, just when he thought he could actually get along with a Weasley, enjoy her company, maybe even ask her to have a drink with him, she rushes away like some strange plague had hit him.

Frowning, he began to move back into the crowd. Maybe he could salvage his night, now with his perfect Malfoy hair. But just as he turned, he caught a glimpse of his hair reflected in the mirror. His eyes widened in horror.

It was red.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Nine**

**Mirror, Mirror**

Malfoys, as a rule, never had bad hair days.

Draco glanced into the bathroom mirror and noted that his hair was perfect. It had taken twenty minutes to get that nice rolled-out-of-bed disarray, but the result was damn sexy, and he'd only had to tell his mirror to shut up three times. He smirked at his reflection before carefully cuffing his sleeves neatly to just below the elbow.

"You're rolling them up?" the mirror asked. "The point is to _impress _the Minister."

Draco smirked. "When one has flawless forearms, there's no harm in rolling up one's sleeves for a casual summertime luncheon." He admired his arms for a moment before adjusting his collar. He'd be on the Wizengamot before he was thirty-five.

The mirror scoffed. "I know a thing or two about fashion, Draco. I've advised Malfoys for centuries."

Draco loosed the top button, ensuring that he looked relaxed, confident, and trustworthy, before he replied, "You've hung in a _bathroom_ for centuries."

"How many Malfoys have won Witch Weekly's best-dressed awards? _All of them!_" the mirror retorted.

Draco carefully coached a few strands of hair to lie rakishly across his forehead. "I've won it twice, despite regularly ignoring you."

"You make self-worship an art," the mirror replied cattily. "You're more of a peacock than the birds on the lawn."

"I've told you a hundred times to stop calling me that," Draco growled at his reflection. "Do it again and you'll be smithereens."

The mirror was silent for a moment, then said, "You're cute when you're mad."

Draco made a rude gesture and stalked out, though as much as he hated the faceless personality in his bathroom, he had to admit that on that last count, the mirror was right: he was rather attractive when he looked a bit dark. He'd have to try it more often. Ginny did like to role-play every now and again ...

He found his wife sitting up in bed, still in her pyjamas, with a half-eaten plate of breakfast and the Prophet sports section. Her hair was a mess of bright red curls.

"Cannons won last night, so you owe me five Gall—are you okay? You look … dangerous. Did you do something different with your hair?"

He wiped the new Dark Look from his face. "Mirror," he said flatly, slightly perturbed when she smiled. "It's your turn, you layabout. We have to make a good impression."

With a groan, she slid out of bed. "I don't want to go to a stupid luncheon with stupid bigwigs. There had better be alcohol," she said, wandering into the closet. "Is this thing dressy or casual?"

He leaned against the doorframe, then gestured at himself. "Relaxed, but trustworthy. Like me."

Ginny arched an eyebrow and looked him up and down. "So … a sundress and my Chucks?" she asked with a grin. He leveled the Dark Look at her, and she sighed and held up a pale green dress. "This with those nude pumps I hate?"

He considered this, then nodded.

Ginny slipped into the dress. "I must really love you," she said, tying her hair back into a loose ponytail, which he supposed was presentable if one was going to do heavy labor, like baking or something. She stepped into the pumps and pulled a face. "I am going to write love poems to my Chucks tonight, I swear. A man designed these."

Draco added an arched eyebrow to the Dark Look and decided against pointing out that a man had designed her Chucks. You'd think after four years she'd be used to society events, he thought as he admired this new Dark Look in the mirror above Ginny's vanity table, which (mercifully) had no personality.

The arched eyebrow really added a lot to the attractive dangerousness, he mused, except—his hair!

Draco flew to the mirror and clutched at his hair, which was parted neatly on the right and slicked back behind his ears. He looked like he was some sort of junior executive trying to get a promotion. Or like Dracula. Or like he was twelve.

Trust Ginny not to notice that he looked ridiculous. He fled to the bathroom to confront his arch-nemesis.

"Fix it, you disgusting piece of glass," he snarled.

The mirror remained silent.

"Really," he said, getting so close that his breath created a ghostly circle on the cool surface, "There's no point in feigning innocence._ Smithereens_. See if I don't."

"I haven't the _foggiest_ idea what you're talking about," replied the mirror, and Draco scowled at the pun.

"_Malfoys_ do_ not_ have bad hair days," he said, using his best Dark Look.

The mirror laughed. "And you think smashing the magical mirror that's been in the _Malfoy _home for centuries will fix that, you vain peacock?"

Draco's jaw dropped. "Do you mean to say that—that you—" he drifted off. The horror of realizing that his good hair days were thanks to the most obnoxious mirror ever to be hung in a bathroom paled in comparison to realizing that the mirror could probably curse him with bad hair days for the rest of his life. There were no junior executives on the Wizengamot!

"That's right, Draco," it said smugly, "Might want to be a little more respectful to the mirror that makes it all possible."

"I—I—" Draco backed toward the door.

"You're adorable when you're scared of my power," the mirror said, not unkindly, "but I do have a reputation to maintain. Can I suppose that you will be the epitome of politeness to me in the future?"

Draco nodded, and his hair returned to its original, rakish disarray. He made a mental note _not_ to perfect a scared-of-a-mirror look. It wasn't remotely sexy.

"Er, thank you," he said quietly.

The mirror chortled. "I never thought I'd see the day! Now, and send your wife in here. Someone needs to do something about that ponytail. She looks like she's about to do some baking."

**-xXx-**

**Submission Ten**

**Ginny's Bad Day**

"Stay down!"

Ginny removed her hand and was frustrated to see the same strand of red flick up like an insect antenna. She groaned and closed her eyes, holding back tears of frustration. Today was the big job interview, but she had somehow managed to sleep through her alarm, and then she'd stubbed her toe while walking to the shower, and thenshe hadn't been able to find her wand to dry her hair. Of course, when she finally did, her hair just wouldn't cooperate with her.

"I've tried putting you up, and I've tried putting you down," Ginny raged, glaring at the offending tresses of red. "Why won't you just look nice?"

Her hair had no response, though wispy strands were beginning to crackle free, making it look as if she had a frizzy halo. Ginny's shoulders slumped in defeat, but then she caught sight of the clock and a squeak of horror escaped her throat.

"I'm going to be late!"

Snatching up her bag from the bed, she slipped her feet into her heels and then Disapparated. Materialising at the designated point in the Ministry of Magic, she pushed past the other people and made a mad dash for the lifts. If she hurried, she still might be able to make it to the interview before they wrote her off completely. It was therefore a relief when she made it into the glass lift before the doors slid shut.

"Oh, thank Merlin," she breathed, clicking the button for the floor she wanted and then letting her head rest against the wall as she tried to catch her breath.

"Rough morning?"

"Terrible," she responded.

Then she actually looked at the other occupant in the lift and her expression soured. Only one person had such silvery blond hair, such striking grey eyes, and such handsome, angular features. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Brilliant," she muttered. "Could this day get any worse?"

Suddenly, there was a loud, metallic groan and the lift came to an abrupt halt. Ginny and Draco exchanged a surprised glance and then she reached over and clicked the button to get the lift moving again. Nothing happened.

"No!" Ginny exclaimed, pushing the button again and again. "No, no, no, no!"

"Move aside," Draco ordered. He pressed the switch that would allow him to contact the emergency repairmen. Again, nothing happened.

Ginny groaned and covered her face with her hands. "This is not happening! This _can't _be happening!"

"Stop being so melodramatic," Draco retorted. "This is a glass lift. People are bound to notice we're stuck eventually."

"You don't understand!" Ginny cried, staring up at him through overly bright eyes. "I'm supposed to be having a job interview right now; instead, I'm stuck in this lift with you." Her bottom lip trembled. "If only my hair had just cooperated with me this morning."

"What has your hair got to do with this?" Draco asked, justifiably nonplussed.

Ginny wasn't listening. She slid to the floor and buried her face in her knees, wondering how so much could have gone so wrong. This job had been everything to her; it was her chance to prove to her family that she could stand on her own two feet. But now she could see all of those dreams of independence and success being sucked away down the drain. No one would think twice about a person who couldn't even make it to an interview on time and whose hair looked like a fuzzy red halo with antennas.

Draco eyed the redhead suspiciously. "Are you crying?"

"No."

But her voice was decidedly wobbly, and the snotty sniff that followed was just further evidence that she was far from happy. Draco sighed and sat down next to her on the ground.

"Here," he said.

Ginny looked up to see a handkerchief being dangled in front of her face. Her gaze shifted to the blond, but he wasn't looking at her and was instead staring straight ahead, just waiting for her to accept his offering.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"Least I can do," he muttered, still not looking at her.

Ginny was too busy blowing her nose to hear him, but that didn't matter. His unexpected gesture of kindness had soothed a lot of her distress, to the point where she was able to bestow him with a tremulous smile once she had wiped away her tears.

"Um, what should I do with—"

"Keep it," he said. "I can't say I relish the thought of carrying something with your snot all over it in my pocket." A faint smirk touched his lips. "Besides, it looks like you need it more than I do."

A light dusting of pink spread over her cheeks. "Uh, yeah. Sorry about that."

"It's fine." He leaned back against the wall. "I'd rather that than listen to you throw a pity party for yourself the whole time we're stuck in this lift together."

She elbowed him in the arm. "Git."

His mouth twitched, and for a moment the two of them sat next to each other in comfortable silence. Ginny soon became aware of a cool, masculine scent teasing her senses and she realised it had to be coming from the blond. She glanced up at him, taking the time to examine his profile. He turned to meet her gaze, and as she stared into his grey eyes, it occurred to her that he really was an incredibly attractive man. The realisation brought another blossom of pink to her cheeks.

"What?" Draco said, raising his eyebrow.

Ginny ducked her head. "Nothing."

She stared at the handkerchief in her hands, and a smile touched her lips as she saw the tiny D and M stitched onto the corner. By the time the lift started moving again, she no longer cared that she had missed her interview or that her hair looked like a frizzy halo with red antennas. After all, not everything had gone wrong for her that morning.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Eleven**

**Sneaky Thieves and Shopping Sprees**

They stole into the bedroom silently, one staying by the door to keep an eye on things while they other went for their main target: Alphonse Dolohov, brother of the late Antonin . . . and hair to his vast fortune.

Creeping softly over to the sleeping man, Draco took care to avoid the usual pitfalls of sneaking into someones' bedroom: discarded clothes, seemingly random pieces of furniture and snoozing familiars. An almost disastrous experience with a Crup, bedside table and tent-sized undergarments had served as a warning lesson.

Leaning over the snoring man, Draco held his breath. This was the difficult part.

Breaking in? Easy enough if you knew what you were doing.

Distracting the House-Elves and various house pets? Done, with liberally laced food items.

Seducing the Mistress who was sneaking out while you were on the way in? Perk of the job.

No, the hard bit was this: leaning over a sleeping man and, without waking him, stealing one of his hairs.

Now the startling pinch of a stolen hair is not the greatest pain a wizard can face (try walking into a chest of drawers, stubbing your toe and not yelling aloud - that's real pain), but for some unexplainable reason it almost always served to wake the wizard up, which is why Draco always carried a back-up system.

Steadying himself, Draco bent down and deftly caught hold of two hairs from the man's head. A swift tug and he yanked back, hoping their luck was with them.

Of course, it wasn't, and the man jumped, eyes springing open. Before he had time to realise what was happening, Draco whacked him on the head with Matilda and beat a hasty retreat.

Without even looking at her, Draco knew Ginny was frowning. She never understood why he used Matilda, in her eye's it was too cumbersome and pointless when a quick Stupefy would do.

Then again, Draco had never shown her how fun it could be.

She, as usual, saved any admonishments until after they had left the crime scene and returned to their base.

"He almost caught us! Why can't you just knock them out before nabbing the hair?" she ranted while changing.

Draco shrugged. "Some places have unauthorised spell alarms," -Bollocks of course - "like we did at the Manor." Luckily Ginny believed him, she didn't put it past the high-society world to have wards like that. Draco was glad that he could still get away with that excuse. As with Matilda, he knew his answer of 'because it's more fun this way' wouldn't fly with her.

Ginny elegantly grunted before downing her Polyjuice and transforming into her normal disguise of Malcolm, the faithful but overworked and underappreciated valet to their pick of the month. This time his employer was going to be 'Alphonse Dolohov,' played by Draco who, as he still was, knew how to play an arrogant Pureblood.

"Time to go shopping!" he gaily announced and Ginny couldn't help but grin as they Apparated to the New York wizarding shopping hub.

…

Alphonse Dolohov was very well known, so well known that the American wizards didn't question his request to put everything on his tab. Together with Malcom, Alphonse went on a shopping spree, almost single-handedly boosting the American economy.

As expected, Malcolm had to do the heavy carrying.

**…**

One week later when Draco and Ginny were mingling at one of many society events they came across Alphonse, who was still looking furiously angry. To save his pride he hadn't told anyone what had happened - if he had he would have found many more 'victims' - but the one person he had to tell was Draco and, by extension, his wife.

"I know you're good at digging things out," he conspiratorially whispered to Draco, ignoring Ginny stood by his side. "Someone broke into my home a week previous and stole some of my hair, using it in a Polyjuice potion."

He paused, letting it sink in.

To Draco, who this was all old news, it was quite a shame that Alphonse hadn't expanded on the break in. Ginny's delicate tear in the wards was a pleasure to watch, an artform in it's making. And Draco's plucking of hairs was a talent the world wasn't ready for.

Alphonse continued. "They went on a trip to the colony and spent, well, I won't disclose exactly how much they spent, but let's say I had to liquidate _three_ companies to pay the bill. I want him found. Preferably bring him to me, but I trust you to know what to do." He nodded briskly to the pair and departed to socialise with others.

"It sounds like poor Alphonse had a bad hair day," Draco declared.

Ginny looked unamused. "Seriously? You had a week to work on it and _that_ was your punchline?"

* * *

Eleven lovely drabbles for you to read and love, but which two did you love the most? Vote NOW on the poll on our profile! Please note that votes submitted in review form will _not_ be counted.

Results for this round will be posted next week, and remember that all votes will be counted to decide the Overall Most Awesome Drabble and the Overall Most Awesome Author!

Vote now and spread the word! [And leave a review? I know, we ask a lot.]

See you this time next week for Round Four.


	7. Round 4 (I)

**Round Three Results:**

**First Place: **Pride and Drunken Promises; Mirror Mirror.

**Second Place:** The Bird; Sneaky Thieves and Shopping Sprees.

* * *

**-xXx-**

**Round Four**** (I)**

**Prompt: **'We are the fallen angels'

**Word count:** 500-700 words

**-xXx-**

**Submission One**

**Eternal**

He found her in the Forbidden Forest, in the dead of night.

He supposed it was ironic that that's where their paths should converge after so long; a fitting name for a fitting meeting. The word seemed to echo around them, howled by the wind and whispered amongst the leaves. _Forbidden_ they said, and for the first time he felt a phantom chill of regret.

He stood watching her as she knelt on the forest floor in a pool of autumn leaves and mist, silent as the grave. There was a fragility to her, though she remained unmoving as the frigid wind whipped her bare skin. Only the untamed locks of her fiery hair crackled wildly through the air and he found himself admiring how the colour remained so brilliant after so long, even as the shadows of the night stole the reds and golds of the fallen leaves. But that was his Ginevra; always so vibrant, light and colour personified, even in her darkest hour.

This hour was perhaps the darkest of all.

She broke the silence, her voice ragged as though she had screamed her throat raw, and he flinched at the thought she might be in pain. "How could you leave me?"

_I had to_. He thought tersely, but didn't dare utter the words.

She let out a sorrow filled sigh, her breath catching as she choked back a sob.

_Don't,_ he wanted to tell her, _you've mourned enough for a thousand lifetimes_, but again he said nothing, merely stood and watched coldly as her shoulders quivered and she wept.

It seemed like an impossible stretch time before she fell silent once more and took a steadying breath, as though to prepare herself for what was to come.

The urge to go to her, to lend her his strength, to be everything she needed hit him hard, but he didn't crumple under the force of his desire. The feelings were familiar, had been his constant companions for so long that he had learnt to bear the weight of them. But Draco was tired. He was tired of pretending, of being indifferent, and the words slipped out before he could stop himself.

"Be strong." He whispered, his voice barely audible above the wind, and his words echoed about them, sending chills across her skin.

She turned, her eyes glinting through the shadows obscuring her face, but they were unfocused and she looked straight through him as though he didn't exist. She slowly rose, her legs shaking weakly under her weight.

He didn't move, couldn't move as she came toward him, and the bargain he had made with his master echoed through his mind.

_Promise me she'll live. _He had pleaded weakly as his master trailed one cold, slender finger across his filthy cheek.

_So ready to sacrifice everything,_ his master had observed with a cruel smile. _She will be kept alive. Oh yes, she certainly will._

"You will pay for what you took from me. I vow an unbreakable vow, you will pay." Her voice shook him from the memory.

His eyes widened when a flare of magic completed her pledge, and he caught her pretty mouth twisted in a vicious scowl. Fury welled up inside him as he glimpsed her bare skin under the scrap of cloth she clutched to her skeletal frame, innumerable scars puckered angrily across her naked flesh. Her wrists had been rubbed raw and drops of blood slowly trickled downward, steady tears of crimson falling to the earth. Perhaps most shocking of all, her ruined face hadn't aged a day in the long nineteen years since he'd last seen her.

He fell to his knees, devastated by the sight of her, of the repercussions of his sacrifice. His master had kept his word, Ginevra had been kept alive... and would be kept alive forever, to be used and tortured as the Dark Lord pleased.

But Ginevra had escaped, and she had nothing left to lose. She walked through his incorporeal form, breaking his imperceptible body apart, and when the flurry of silvery wisps of smoke came together again she was little more than a shadow amongst the trees.

He followed her.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Two**

**The Evaluation**

"Harry, I don't want this," said Ginny. "You know that. I want to work with Muggles. I don't want…" She waved a hand helplessly. _"This _anymore."

Her gesture encompassed everything that she wanted to escape in the wizarding world since the war- Fred's death, Harry's coldness, Ron's overprotectiveness, love and grief and…

…_and…_

"But you will do it," said Harry, a hint of steel in his voice.

"It wouldn't look good if I left the wizarding world, would it?" she asked. "That would hurt your chances of re-election."

Harry nodded.

She gave a mirthless chuckle. "We're not the angels we used to think we were. Are we?"

"I never claimed to be one," said Harry.

But in a way, he had, and she saw in his face that he knew it. Harry's face was always easy to read. Not at all like another she could name.

"We are the fallen angels, Harry, if we're anything at all," she said. "But I'll do what you want."

Ginny walked through the long-term spell damage ward, her teeth set on edge. A chirpy orderly walked at her side.

"It's so very different to that dreadful Muggle work with dementia, I'm sure," she said, patting at her hairdo.

Ginny shrugged.

"There's always _hope_, you see." The orderly smiled.

Yes, there was always hope. But in a way, thought Ginny, that made things worse. Patients might improve one day; they might even emerge from the fog enveloping them. Or not.

There was a new patient for evaluation that day. The orderly handed her a clipboard, and Ginny read the name.

She froze. It was a name she had never thought she would see again. Then she forced herself to open the door.

She saw him standing on the other side of the room. It would have been easier if he had changed, had aged far beyond the five years that had passed since the war, she thought. But he had not. He stood looking out into the rain as if time had passed him by in an enchanted dream. He looked the way he had the last time she had seen him, when he had destroyed her with his words and actions, and she had thought she would never rise from the ashes again. She'd heard a rumour that he had died the summer after the war, and she had chosen to believe it.

It would have been kinder if he had, she thought. He would have rather died that to live on as a shining shell of his former self.

For a vicious instant, she was glad that things had turned out this way. It was no worse than he deserved.

"Hello, Malfoy," she said, fighting the instinct to turn and run as far and fast as she could. She walked towards him, clipboard in hand. He waited for her without saying a word.

"How are you today?" she asked.

No answer at all. She couldn't even be sure he'd heard her. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to evaluate him at all; she needed some sort of response for that. Well, then, she'd evaluate his_ lack_ of response. She'd stay at least an arm's length away from him at all times. She would—

He turned. He gave her a sweet smile, like the ones he had given to her in the secret days they shared before their world was blown apart, and he had a hand in the destruction.

Then he opened his arms to her.

For an instant, Ginny was sure that she was about to fall apart as thoroughly as she'd done on that last night when he'd left her for the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord he'd sworn himself to, the devil he had not been able to escape. She closed her eyes, struggling desperately not to cry. Then she felt his arms close around her with only a ghost of their old strength.

"Draco, Draco, she sobbed, knowing that there could be no real answer.

"Shh, Ginny," he said, his frail, thin hand stroking her hair. And she knew that no matter how far angels had fallen, they could rise from earth again.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Three**

**No Heroes Here**

Dinner ended prematurely but not before heated accusations and insults had been flung; a wineglass had been spitefully tipped; and assault had been threatened with a steak knife.

Ginny let the utensil fall from her slacken fingers to clatter deafeningly through the hushed restaurant and allowed herself to be led away before she suffered the indignity of being forcefully escorted out. But her eyes never left the target of her outburst. How dare he sit there, gazing brazenly from his black-rimmed glasses as if he'd done nothing wrong?

When the cold night air outside hit her face, she'd only one thought. "I need a bloody drink."

Her dinner companion seized her wrist in a painful grip, yanking her back towards him. "No you don't. We're going home."

She narrowed her eyes, a murderous heat seeping into the dark irises. "You're ordering me around? You, Draco Malfoy? How dare you? You're nothing to me."

His fingers dug deeper into her skin, certain to leave bruises. "We're going home. _Now,_" he hissed. "I'm not cleaning up after your drunk arse because of bloody Potter, _again_."

"No one's asking you to."

"Actually, you did. When you came crawling to me. Face it, Weasley. I'm the only ally you have left in this world."

She pulled her free hand back reflexively, but he didn't even flinch. Centimeters from his cheek, her hand curled into a trembling fist, nails digging into her palm to restrain herself.

"Don't pretend you understand what I do. You've no idea what I've been through." Her voice was equal parts steel to match his stare despite the wetness rimming her eyes.

He released her wrist only to grip her shoulders, shaking her roughly. "Get over yourself. You're not the only woman who has ever had her heart broken. 'I'm over it. I don't give a damn.' You must chant that a hundred times a day. But guess what, idiot? You're in fucking denial. You can't even sit through one measly dinner because of him."

She twisted from his hold and shouted right back, "Potter this, Potter that! Look in the mirror, Malfoy. I'm not the obsessed one here. This isn't all about _him_. And what would you have me do? Admit that I'm broken, instead? Would you rather I listen to the voices that tell me to just go away because no one gives a damn what happens to me? Fine. I admit it. Does that make you happy? I'm broken. I'm broke and I don't think I'll _ever_ be able to put myself together again." Her voice had spiraled into a hysterical hitch, but she was beyond caring.

Guilt. Concern. Fury. All flashed through his eyes in rapid succession—too fleeting for any stranger to have discerned, but she was no stranger. Whatever they were, they'd long stopped being strangers. He reached out for her, and she recoiled, leaving his fingers to grasp at empty air. She didn't need his damn pity.

"Go to hell," she threw at him with enough fiery hate to match the raw hurt burning her up alive.

"I'll see you there," he replied evenly with a frigidness impervious to her flames.

She shot him a final glare and spun on her heels, walking away even as he was speaking again.

"The door will be unlocked. Try not to be sick on anything you can't afford to replace, and you can forget about pilfering any of my Hangover Potions tomorrow."

Without acknowledging that she heard, she strode briskly away into the night, seeking oblivion.

He watched her retreating figure, knowing he should do more to stop her, but he won't. He didn't do things out of the goodness of his heart—only if they pleased him, only if there was something to gain. He wasn't here to play hero and stop her descent. If he had even a drop of decency in him, he would've gotten the hell away from her long ago. No, whatever illusion of kindness he might allow her to see in him, it was only to make sure that she'd continue on her broken course with _him_. Nothing more.

"You'll be back," he whispered as the shadowed street swallowed her up.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Four**

**Fallen Snow Angels **

Sprinkles of white fell from the sky like falling stars, blanketing the earth in a thick blanket of snow. Ginny smiled and closed her eyes, allowing the snowflakes to caress her cheeks in icy kisses. Someone sneezed, distracting her moment of indulgence, and she turned to see Draco Malfoy, their newest house guest at Grimmauld Place, stomping his way through the garden, scowling something awful as he hugged his jacket close to his body. Someone clearly was not enjoying nature's gift to the world.

A sly grin curved her lips, and she picked up a handful of snow and threw it at his head. It smacked against his cheek, breaking apart in an explosion of white and sending slithery trails down his face and neck. Draco let out a string of curses that would have put even Ron to shame for their creativity and vehemence, swearing bloody murder for whoever had dared to attack him. Ginny couldn't help herself; she laughed and laughed, leaning against her knees and barely keeping herself upright as she shook with amusement.

His eyes narrowed as he spotted her. "What the hell was that for, Weasley?"

Ginny wiped a tear away from her eye. "You just looked so grumpy."

"So you thought you'd throw a snowball at me?"

She shrugged. "I know I enjoyed it."

Draco's cheeks, already flushed from the cold, went a darker shade of pink. She wasn't certain if it was because of anger or humiliation, but a second later she was spitting out bits of snow after having a giant ball of the stuff collide with her face. Draco must have used wandless magic to hit her, the git.

"Oh, you're in for it now!" Ginny cried, grabbing two fistfuls of snow.

What followed next was a battle of epic proportions, where childish insults were slung just as much as snow, until one particular barb sent Ginny charging after the blond and tackling him around his middle. They hit the ground with an "oomph' and then rolled and scrabbled with each other—or, rather, Draco called her a demonic, crazy wench and told her to get off him, while Ginny cackled with glee and tried to stuff snow down his shirt. Then the blond decided he'd had enough and flipped her over onto her back, pinning her down to the ground.

Ginny breathed in a sharp breath. They were very close now, and his body was warm and heavy against hers, despite the fact that their clothes were both damp. Her heart thudded in a funny beat against her chest as she stared into his grey eyes (had they always been that dark?), and she could feel little drops of water falling onto her face from the tips of his silvery blond hair. He flicked the strands off his face with an impatient gesture and glared down at her, still keeping her pinned to the ground.

"No more games, Weasley," he growled. "I mean it."

She held her hands up, showing that they were empty. "Alright, alright. I surrender."

He eyed her suspiciously for a moment, but then he got off her and held out his hand to help her up. She accepted the offer and was pulled back to her feet, only to laugh as she stared at the space where they had fallen.

"Look, Draco," she said, pointing at the spot. "We made a snow angel."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't even need to speak; the thought "why me?" was imprinted all over his expression. Ginny did not heed this reaction and tilted her head to the side as she examined their 'angel'.

"Its wings are a bit funny looking, though," she observed. "Perhaps we should call it a fallen snow angel instead."

"I'm going back inside," was all he responded, already walking away.

"Wait!"

Ginny ran to catch up with him, smiling as she met his gaze. "You forgot this."

"Wha—" he started to say, until he got another face full of snow.

Ginny laughed and ran back towards the house, even as Draco chased her and swore oaths of revenge. There were many more fallen snow angels created that day.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Five**

**Fallen**

After four weeks, Draco should have been accustomed to his cellmates stealing his food, hiding in his bed, and crawling across his feet during his contemplative moments. However, all of Draco's moments were contemplative now, and it didn't matter how many weeks passed, he was sure he would never get used to living in filth.

"You're wrong, you know," Ginny said. "You will get used to it. These rats will become your dearest friends." As one rat tried to skitter away from her, she snatched it and lifted it to her lips, placing a tender kiss on its head.

Draco's disgust couldn't be contained, and he physically cringed into the corner of his cell. For the first three weeks, Ginny had remained in the shadows of her own cell across the corridor from his. Draco hadn't known she was there until one frightening night he'd woken up and discovered her gaunt face pressed against the bars of her cell staring at him and laughing.

"We are the fallen angels," she'd whispered in a sing-song voice, hysterical laughter bubbling up between utterances.

"Don't be like that, Draco. I'm not the only one who has lain in filth. Remember? Sure you remember," she said as she stroked the rat's mangy hair.

Of course he remembered their nights together, nights when she had been the most beautiful girl to him, nights when he'd regretted their roles in the war. If they hadn't had their allegiances, things might have been different. They could have left the country. Maybe they would have gotten married. Not anymore, though.

"_We are the fallen angels! We are the fallen angels!"_

After Potter had slain the Dark Lord, Draco and his family had gone into hiding. His father had told him when Ginny Weasley had been arrested for treason. Her brother had spotted them one of those perfect nights, but he'd waited until the war was won before outing her. Nearly two months later, Draco and his family had been caught as well, but from what he'd gathered, she'd never revealed his location to the authorities.

"Would you stop that?" Draco said.

Ginny's voice cut off abruptly, and the glare she shot him reminded him of their years at school.

"Do you hear that, Scabbers? Sounds like someone can't stand to hear the truth."

"_What _truth, you stupid bint?"

Ginny pouted, throwing the rat at the opposite wall of her cell. She crawled to the bars and pressed her face between them, as if trying to squeeze herself out.

"I did wrong, and you did too. If we hadn't been together, your sentence would have been shorter!" Her voice dropped to a whisper, and her eyes wandered in paranoid confusion. "This is our punishment. We chose each other, betrayed our families together, so we'll rot together. We were cast out, and now we can't return. _We_ are the fallen angels! We _are_ the fallen angels!"

Draco wondered where the girl he'd known five months ago had gone. The raving inmate in the cell across from his was unrecognizable. She didn't even look the same, with her emaciated face and faded freckles. Even though they'd met in the midst of a war, they'd found things to laugh about as they'd tried to forget the world around them. He used to love the soft breathlessness in her laughter, but now it was a cruel, shrill sound that grated against his ears.

Perhaps this was the punishment he deserved for trying to reach for something he couldn't have—to spend the rest of his life so close to the girl he'd wanted most in the world knowing that she no longer existed.

* * *

Note: The rest of the submissions for Round Four can be found in the following chapter.


	8. Round 4 (II)

**Round Four**** (II)**

**Prompt: **'We are the fallen angels'

**Word count:** 500-700 words

**-xXx-**

**Submission Six**

**The Broken Remains**

**DRACO**

The pale hand shook as it slowly pushed the needle in, a slight hiss of pain breaking through the silence. A moment later, the syringe was pushed down, injecting the drug into the bloodstream. The hand paused, hovering brokenly, before withdrawing the needle, leaving behind a small mark to match the dozens of others all ready littering the white, scarred arm.

Draco Malfoy sat back and closed his eyes, placing the needle onto the stained, cracked coffee table beside him. If only everyone could see him now – the great Pureblood Prince, reduced to using Muggle drugs in order to forget his pathetic excuse of a life. As the heroin coursed through his system, putting a strange foggy cloud over his mind, he wondered how it had ever gotten this far.

The fall of the Dark Lord. The arrest of all those believed to be Death Eaters. The trials. His name being made into mud. But no Kiss – deep down, Draco knew he had hoped for the Kiss, so it would all finally be over. But no, the stupid Golden Trio had vouched for his innocence and left him with no respect and nowhere to go – and nothing to free him for the nightmares of his past.

As he slipped into a drug-induced haze, he wished for this torture to end. The others may have believed he escaped lightly, not even having to deal with Azkaban. But to him, this strange half-life in the prison he used to call his home was worse.

**GINNY**

Ginny had been ecstatic when Harry had prevailed against Voldemort. It had seemed to signal the arrival of peace to the magical community – the achievement of equality for all those involved. Yet somehow, it all seemed to have backfired.

The people now were not equal, it was simply the other way round. Purebloods were detested and thought of as scum, while Muggle-borns were hailed as geniuses and almost better than everyone else. When the Golden Trio was talked about, Ron was somewhat forgotten – the half-blood Saviour and Muggle-born genius were praised and showered with gifts, whereas Ron was barely acknowledged. It didn't matter that he had helped defeat Voldemort, he was a Pureblood – therefore not what the world was looking for.

The Weasleys might not have been typical Purebloods, yet they still felt some of the fallout. Ginny had graduated from Hogwarts early with exceptional results, yet had only been awarded a mediocre job dealing with the ex-Death Eaters who remained free. As a Pureblood, no-one wanted to give her a decent job, just in case it led to a repeat of Voldemort. It sickened her. Even Harry and Hermione, previously her boyfriend and best friend, had abandoned her. The balance might have changed, but in a way, the world was still the same.

When Ginny arrived at the Manor she found the unkempt state strangely comforting. It seemed to symbolise her own thoughts in a way nothing else could. It almost felt more homely than everywhere else – silent and brooding, just waiting for the rest of the world to wake up.

As she passed through into the study, discovering Draco passed out surrounded by needles, she immediately understood why. The fairness the end of the war promised had never come. Despite the fact Draco had had no choice as to his path, he had been punished by being outcast and forgotten about. His behaviour almost mirrored her thoughts – it was his way out of this unfair world. His method of easy escape.

Calmly, Ginny cleared up the mess and studied the man. His ragged clothes and scarred arms showed how hard this was for him. How hard it was for his society.

It was at this moment Ginny resolved to help. Now, he was no different to what she was. The old leaders of society, pushed aside to make way for the next mistake.

The fallen angels.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Seven**

**The Doctrine of Evil**

"This "fall" consists in the free choice of these created spirits, who radically and irrevocably _rejected _God and his reign." – The Catechism of the Catholic Church

She sees a pale-white halo, glowing in the air that is smothered by darkness. An all-white figure, wan, ethereal, shines before her, and she thinks that it must be an angel.

She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, the angel is gone, and the cell is empty but for her and the dead man who sleeps beside her. She is dead too, she thinks. Not literally, like he is, but figuratively. She is dead because soon she will die, and she can do nothing to change that.

_I am a dead woman_.

There are no more screams, and there is no more fear, only cold acceptance. Only unhappy calm.

Sometimes, when she looks over at the dead man, whose name she has forgotten – was he important? Was she somebody she might have loved? – she wonders what has happened to her friends, her family, the people she used to know, so long ago. But her curiosity dims with time until the sight of his bones, as white as the angel's flesh, evokes nothing within her but resignation.

She begins to see the angel more often. Sometimes just the halo, shining through the bars in the door, sometimes the body, too, glowing before her so brightly that it's nearly blinding, and she has to shield her eyes.

But it is a wingless angel, walking on the fetid earth as she might do, as the dead man might have done, perhaps as much a part of that decaying rot as he is – as she will be. The angel's feet touch the earth and bless it, but do the feet not become dirtied, too? Does some of that filth not become it?

But the angel is always just as white as the time before, just as perfect, just as pure, until one day he speaks in the voice of a man she thinks she might have known once.

He calls her by her surname, and a gargoyle comes forth to take her by her arms, all leers and grotesqueness, and that is the first time she thinks he might not be an angel after all.

His voice is too cold, his manner too abrupt, and when she sees him in the light he looks common, ordinary, familiar, _bad._ In the light he has no halo, he does not glow or shine, and his presence is heavy, _physical_.

His face is a half-remembered angle, the long and jagged edge of a broken sword, and she fights with her memory to place him among the people she once knew.

But by the time she is deposited in a room with a long black table, a table with an immense, black-cloaked figure at the far end, she is too late remembering.

Words wash over her that ignite, for the first time in what may be years, the will to fight and live.

_This is the girl, Draco?_

_Yes, my Lord. She is the last one._

The figure whose eyes glow like the fires of hell approaches her, and takes her face in one cold, grey hand. He inspects her.

_A shame she's infertile. Such pure blood should not go to waste._

He steps away, and when she tries to move, perhaps to escape – though where to? – she finds that she cannot move, and suddenly she's in the air, suddenly suspended above them, and the two watch her, and she knows that her angel is no angel.

The man speaks again. _She is the last of the fallen. _He twists he wand and she spins in the air. _The last of those who rejected me…_ She falls a half foot, her heart beating in her mouth, her vision clouded by fear.

Her angel who is not an angel watches her impassively.

And the man lifts his wand.

And she is crucified before she dies.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Eight**

**Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep**

She is crying, and she is not sure if the tears are from exhaustion or frustration. Her feet are bare, and the hardwood floor is cold, and it is closer to dawn than to midnight.

"There, there, my darling," she coos to the tiny crying newborn in her arms. "You're fed, you're clean, you're safe — hush. Please, hush."

She wraps the blanket more tightly around the little boy and lifts him to her shoulder, and he pushes his small head into her neck. His breath is warm. "That's right, my lovely boy. Mummy's here. Please, please sleep," she breathes, gently swaying from side to side.

She hums a tune her mother used to sing to her and her brothers, an old nursery song. She has forgotten the words. The baby is still except for his small, shuddery breaths, and without daring to breathe, she lowers him into his father's old mahogany bassinet.

He whimpers, and she rubs his tummy. She echoes his whimper and wishes she could call her mum for advice. But it would be useless. And she is stronger than that, anyway. She is stronger than she ever would have guessed. She lifts her chin.

He begins to cry in earnest.

She is not stronger than this, she admits as her heart collapses against her ribs. Not stronger than being alone tonight. And tomorrow. And tomorrow's tomorrow.

She smoothes her baby's downy, white-blond fluff of hair, and it pops right back up, a frothy little mohawk above his crinkled, worried little forehead. He fusses, waving a tiny little fist above his head.

"I know, darling," she sighs. "Me too."

He quiets suddenly and looks up at her. She gently rubs his head until his eyelids droop over his soft, quiet, gray eyes.

She reaches out to straighten his tiny blanket, and a swathe of moonlight catches her arm. Her skin glows bright white around the cold, black tattoo that cuts a winding path down her forearm. She snatches her arm away as though it burns, even though the mark has been cold for four months.

She curses the light as her son begins to whine again. She crosses the room and drags one heavy drapery across the tall window, then pauses to look up at the full moon. It hangs low in the sky, nearly dipping into the bare trees that encircle the Manor. It is so bright that it washes out the stars.

She doesn't look away, but her fingertips reach for velvet brocade and the drapes snap shut.

She walks about the room, idly straightening tiny nappies and little clothes and antique blocks - toys that his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather Malfoy had stacked and toppled. She yawns. The candle flares and gutters. It is so very, very late. She glances over at the bassinet; he is quiet.

She should go to bed.

She is still sure she will never be used to going to bed without — without _him_, even though it has been four months and the baby is here now. But the house is so huge and empty now, and she just rattles about. Not even the ghosts have stayed.

Idly, she twists the hem of her oversized t-shirt. It is one of his, and she wishes it still smelled like him. Like cologne and fresh paper and boy.

With a resolute sigh, she leans over the mahogany and tenderly taps a finger against her son's soft little snub of a nose — the only feature he has inherited from his Weasley ancestors — and covers the prickle of tears with a tiny smile. At least she is not completely alone.

"Sleep long, my angel," she whispers, rubbing her cold arms. "Mum needs a chance to dream."

_**I pray the Lord my soul to keep.**_

**-xXx-**

**Submission Nine**

**An angel who, by accident, became fallen and decided to take revenge**

When Lucius Malfoy took part in an ancient dark ritual to boost his magical strength he never realised the consequence of his actions.

You see, every time an evil wizard (or witch) killed someone a puppy dies.

Every time an evil triumphs over good millions die and the gas price in America shoots up.

Every time a dark (and ancient!) ritual was completed an angel lost it's wings.

Now normally the angel would be bitter and angry and would move to a suburb in America to be that annoying crotchety old neighbour, but in Cupid's case that wasn't his response. Unlike the other fallen angels, Cupid was able to keep many of his powers . . . namely the ability to force people to fall in love with another.

Cupid knew who was the cause for his fall . . . he knew how to get to him best, so without further ado headed to Hogwarts.

XxX

Despite still having the skill to make people fall in love, it seemed Cupid's shooting ability had deserted him so instead of making the Malfoy heir fall in love with one of his buffoon friends he ended up pining away for a bland redhead.

When Cupid saw the damage (when everyone went crazy and there were plentiful riots between the different houses), he thought it only best to make her fall in love with him too.

He then grew fond of causing chaos and ended up shooting a bunch of arrows where ever he felt, leading to a very interesting dinner feast.

Eventually the chaos grew so much that the Board of Governors were called in and Cupid got to see the man himself.

He wasn't impressed.

In fact he was so unimpressed that he decided to leave and go cause mayhem elsewhere but just as he was about to leave a rioting mass of lovesick teenages began firing spells and one had the misfortune to strike a stone grotesque and cause it to fall, landing on Lucius Malfoy's head before he had a chance to protect himself.

His head went splat, the power ritual unravelled and Cupid felt himself be lifted back to his proper place, no longer a fallen angel. Feeling generous, Cupid decided to undo his previous work and everyone revert to 'normal,' that is, everyone bar the couple acting indecently on the floor.

Draco Malfoy hadn't even noticed when his father died, too engrossed in snogging Ginny Weasley. When Cupid's spell broke he still didn't notice.

Still too engrossed in snogging Ginny Weasley.

* * *

Nine lovely drabbles for you to read and love, but which two did you love the most? Vote NOW on the poll on our profile! Please note that votes submitted in review form will _not_ be counted.

Results for this round will be posted next week, and remember that all votes will be counted to decide the Overall Most Awesome Drabble and the Overall Most Awesome Author!

Vote now and spread the word! [And leave a review? I know, we ask a lot.]

See you this time next week for the final round, Round Five.


	9. Round 5

**Round Four Results:**

**First Place: **Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.

**Second Place: **Fallen Snow Angels; Fallen.

* * *

**-xXx-**

**Round Five**

**Inspiration: **"The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops."

**Word count:** 100 words.

**-xXx-**

**Submission One**

**Blur**

His eyes glint silver in the moonlight as I kneel before him.

My vision blurs and I breath deeply, desperate for him not to see me so weak, so vulnerable, so absolutely abhorrent.

He is cold and distant. He is beyond my reach, and his contemptuous sneer is too much. I crack.

"You promised," I cry weakly.

His expression softens, and his eyes become distant. "Did I?" he asks, almost smiling.

The tip of his wand presses between my eyes while burning tears roll down my cheeks with abandon. It's my turn to weep, though I'll soon forget why.

"_Imperio_."

**-xXx-**

**Submission Two**

**Favourite Jumper**

"Marry me."

The fork nearly dropped from Draco's hand.

She stood in front of him, her eyes red from crying.

She still wore the jumper she'd stolen from his closet when they'd climbed out of bed, the same one she'd been wearing when he asked her to marry him over cold soba noodles and tempura shrimp.

The same jumper she'd run away wearing.

"Is that a proposal, Weasley?"

She let out a choked laugh before reaching out her hand, his ring shining off her finger.

He rose from his chair and kissed her.

A table away, Astoria began to cry.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Three**

**Divided**

They are like two sides of the same coin—so close, yet never able to touch. She can never be more than the inverted image of his soul. Her tears fall in fiery droplets, blanketing the earth in the heat of her rage; his are the ice that freezes and stills, but even then they cannot cry together. They are always divided, always the opposite. When she whispers, he is silent. When he reaches for her, she turns her back.

It is nature. It is balance.

It is all she will ever know, and she hates it.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Four**

**The Progression**

"What are you doing, Weasley?" Draco asked Ginny during his sixth year.

"Crying," Ginny said.

He shrugged.

...

"What are you doing?" he asked as they stood together in the broom closet.

"Crying," she said.

He kissed her, feeling the wetness on his own cheeks.

...

"Are you…?" he prompted as they lay in bed together.

She smiled.

...

Ginny passed him in the hall outside the Wizengamot where he was awaiting trial. She stiffened. Then she turned.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?"

"Nothing at all," he said. But he felt a single tear slide down his cheek when she turned away.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Five**

**The Cure for Pain**

He never let anyone know he had been crying.

_Weak_, his father said. _The Dark Lord will know._

But he did cry – though more rarely now, as time passed – and knew only one means of curing his pain.

And so he went to the dungeons.

A glow of red hair in the blackness framed pallid skin, sunken cheeks, the sickly, bony curve of emaciation.

He watched her quietly, running his thumb along his wand.

"_Crucio,_" he hissed.

And as he saw the threat of tears in her eyes, the corners of his mouth began to curve up into a smile.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Six**

**A Dream Realized**

Ten years after Harry Potter's death, Ginny had finally stopped crying. For the first two years, the tears had been never-ending. The future that Ginny had envisioned since she was ten years old had quite swiftly been snuffed out, and getting over her failed dream had taken a good number of years.

Now, at the annual gathering at Harry's grave, she could look upon his final resting place and feel remorse, but not for herself.

She placed Draco's hand on her swollen stomach and smiled in contentment. Harry had been one dream, but she had a new one now.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Seven**

**A Life In Tears**

"Stop crying. Malfoys are not weak."

"He's _three-years-old_, Lucius."

"You coddle him too much."

...

"You're not supposed to cry."

"You pushed me. It _hurts_."

"Weakling."

"I hate you."

"Wait! I'm...s-sorry."

...

"So what if she likes Pothead? She's nothing to cry about."

...

"I'm going to kill him."

"He didn't do anything, Draco."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I know it's ending."

...

"I-I love you. Damn it. Stop crying. Do you hate me that much?"

"I'm just happy, idiot."

"Oh."

...

"He's perfect, Gin. Thank you."

"Don't forget, he's half your responsibility too."

"..."

"I thought Malfoys didn't cry."

"You're clearly hallucinating."

**-xXx-**

**Submission Eight**

**Memories of Futures Past**

He brushed away tears from blue eyes, imagining those brown eyes that, though brimming with tears, had been filled with the heat of passion. Then anger. He moved blonde locks behind an ear, but imagined the flowery scent of the deep red hair he had grown to love running his fingers through.

He held her soft hands, though his chest clenched as he remembered Ginny's small Quidditch-worn fingers slipping out of his for the last time.

Finally, he pushed away those memories and loosened his jaw. He said "I do," staring into the eyes of his future, Astoria Greengrass.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Nine**

**the same is true of the laugh**

He kisses her hard, like always, his hands tangled in her hair. But her fingers find a hem, and he jerks away.

"No. That's not why—"

She grins and cocks an eyebrow. "Would you rather _talk_?" Her light fingers reach for buttons, and he wrenches her wrists away before she accidentally reaches his soul. She has a knack.

"I—I'm going to be a father."

Her smile fades, and she smoothes her wild red hair. "A father. Wow." She nods, sinking against the wall a bit.

He's glad she's too brave to let him see her cry.

And that Astoria isn't.

**-xXx-**

**Submission Ten**

**Why**

His thumb traces her jawline, ignoring the wetness it finds.

"You are not special," he whispers, then smiles.

She breaks before him: hope, resolve, heart.

These tears aren't for herself, but him.

She doesn't think he is able to cry.

_Yet._

* * *

Ten lovely drabbles for you to read and love, but which two did you love the most? Vote NOW on the poll on our profile! Please note that votes submitted in review form will _not_ be counted.

Results for this round will be posted next week, and remember that all votes will be counted to decide the Overall Most Awesome Drabble and the Overall Most Awesome Author!

Vote now and spread the word! [And leave a review? I know, we ask a lot.]

The final results will be posted next week and we'll finally find out who was the most popular author and which drabble rocked your little, wash in a thirty degree cycle with a non-abrasive soap and softener, cotton socks.


	10. Results

**Results & '****Who Wrote What'**

**Note:** After First, Second and Third, the remaining Drabbles for each round have been listed alphabetically by author.

* * *

Round One:

**Too Far Lost In This Maze **was written by **Farrha**

**Gravel and Thorns** was written by **Leigh**

**Devotion** was written by **Haz**

**O****f Fear and Truth** was written by **Sunny**

**Measuring Up **was written by **Sarah**

**Martyr for the Stars** was written by **Kim**

**Meet me at the Center** was written by **Anise**

**The Quest** was written by **Jess**

**Cornered in a Circle** was written by **Kira**

**Game** was written by **Lizz**

**Scare** was written by **Pam**

**Lost** was written by **Penguin**

Disqualified: **Emma - Dominatrice;** **Ky - TheDarknessBefalls **

* * *

Round Two:

**Clockwork** was written by **Kim**

**Purely Political** was written by **Leigh**

**And You Will Like It ** was written by **Sarah**

**Benefaction **was written by **Haz**

**Not Ours to Keep** was written by **Sunny**

**Opinions and Alliances** was written by **Lizz**

**Politicking** was written by **Jess**

**Bitter Things** was written by **Anise**

**Chess Pieces** was written by **Farrha**

**Two Alliances** was written by **Penguin**

**Pretend** was written by **Pam**

Disqualified: **Kira - amethyst-rose**

* * *

Round Three:

**Pride and Drunken Promises** was written by **Sunny**

**Mirror Mirror** was written by **Leigh**

**The Bird** was written by **Lizz**

**Sneaky Thieves and Shopping Sprees** was written by **Sarah**

**Bad Heir Day** was written by **Anise**

**Sometimes** was written by **Pam**

**Ginny's Bad Day** was written by **Kim**

**Unruly** was written by **Farrha**

**Incendiary** was written by **Haz**

**All's Hair in Love and War** was written by **Jess**

**Transfiguration Practise **was written by **Penguin**

* * *

Round Four:

**Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep **was written by **Leigh**

**Fallen Snow Angels **was written by **Kim**

**Fallen **was written by **Jess**

**Eternal **was written by **Haz**

**The Doctrine of Evil **was written by **Lizz**

**An Angel Who, By Accident, Became Fallen and Decided to Take Revenge **was written by **Sarah**

**The Evaluation **was written by **Anise**

**The Broken Remains **was written by **Penguin**

**No Heroes Here **was written by **Sunny**

Disqualified: **Pam - cherryredxx;**** Farrha – AbitOfBlack**

* * *

Round Five:

**A Life In Tears **was written by **Sunny**

**Favourite Jumper **was written by **Ky**

**Blur **was written by **Haz**

**The Progression **was written by **Anise**

**Memories of Futures Past **was written by **Farrha**

**A Dream Realized **was written by **Jess**

**Divided **was written by **Kim**

**The Same Is True of The Laugh **was written by **Leigh**

**The Cure For Pain **was written by **Lizz**

**Why **was written by **Sarah**

Disqualified: **Penguin – ThePenguinofDeath**

* * *

**Overall Awards and Special Mentions:**

Congratulations to the following authors, who submitted an entry for every round:

**Anise – Anise**

**Haz - Ha'niqua**

**Jess – idreamofdraco**

**Kim – Boogum**

**Leigh – Aerileigh**

**Lizz – TuesdayNovember**

**Sarah – imadoodlenoodle**

**Sunny – SunnyStorms**

Now, without further ado, it's time to announce the top ranking authors:

In third place is **Kim**, whose collective scores ranked her as the **third most popular author** overall.

In second place is **Sunny **whose collective scores ranked her as the **second most popular author** overall.

First place goes to **Leigh**, whose collective drabble scores qualified her to receive the award for **Overall Most Awesome Author**.

The result of the **Overall Most Awesome Drabble** is a three way tie, between **Sunny** for her Round Three entry **Pride and Drunken Promises**, **Sunny** for her Round Five entry **A Life In Tears** and **Leigh** for her Round Three entry **Mirror, Mirror**. These Drabbles each received 25% of the overall vote for their rounds, making them the most popular for the entire challenge.

Congratulations to all participants, whose time and literary prowess helped to make the Battle of the Drabbles a success!


End file.
